


Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow

by sadladybug



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 62,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadladybug/pseuds/sadladybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. </p><p>Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been. </p><p>For Zutara Week 2014-2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Melancholy

“Sir, I hope you don’t think me too forward, but are you sure you won’t take the Satomobile?”

Zuko finishes securing his hair in its topknot before giving his head attendant a sidelong glance. “Since when have you ever been worried about being too forward?”

“You know I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.” The man keeps his mouth in a thin line as he helps tie the sash around Zuko’s waist. “But you and I both know you are…”

Zuko shoots him a look and dares him to say it. “I’m what?”

His attendant’s face gives away nothing. Not for the first time, it occurs to Zuko that his people are spectacular at this game; if he didn’t know better he would think that politicking was a genetic trait that passed through the citizens of the Fire Nation in equal measure with pale skin and dark hair. His attendant clears his throat lightly but maintains a level gaze.

“…a precious national resource.”

The moment stretches out as the two men regard each other. Zuko’s face cracks first, the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. “Go on. You were going to say ‘old’ weren’t you?”

His attendant’s eyes sparkle though his facial expression remains blank. “Nonsense. Age is simply a number. May all men hope to enjoy robust health as for long as you have.”

Zuko chuckles. “I knew it.”

Zuko straightens his tunic and adjusts the sleeves. His clothes may still be made from fine tailored silk, but they are much less fussy than the heavy formal robes he donned for decades. His head is less encumbered as well; he finds that he does not miss the weight of the crown that used to rest there. Not anymore, at least.

“My concern is only for your safety, sir. You can’t be too careful these days.” Zuko turns and checks himself in the mirror. With his curved posture and wrinkled-carved face, he might pass for any other elderly tourist, just another retiree escaping from the long winter to enjoy warmer temperatures. Except for one thing. No matter where he goes, he’s never just another tourist. The scar that blazes across his face announces his legacy from a distance, especially when he travels within his own country. There may have been a time when people here did not recognize him, but those days are long gone. He stands a little taller, tries to channel a little of the pride of his youth.

“I think I can handle myself.”

His attendant hovers into view behind him. “Of course. But it _is_ a long walk. One of the men can drive you, if you prefer.”

It’s no secret among the staff that Zuko doesn’t care to drive. What they don’t know is that it’s because he’s not very good at it. To this day he could detail the workings of a steam ship or a war balloon, but there was something about the shifting and steering of a simple Satomobile that made him feel as uncoordinated as he was in his youth trying to execute his first kick. He really was getting old. But today that was beside the point. “No thank you. It’s a beautiful day. I prefer to walk.”

His attendant clicks his tongue. “If you insist. You might at least take a guard with you.”

Zuko shakes his head. “No. This is something that I must do alone. You should know that by now.”

He sighs. “Yes, my lord. We’ll be waiting for you when you return home, then. Have a safe journey.”

Zuko nods and makes his way down the stairs, keeping one hand on the thick wooden bannister. The staff in the foyer bows and provides him with his shoes. He thanks them before pulling open the door. The smell of salt and the sound of the tides greet him. He inhales deeply and starts his walk down the long path toward town.

* * *

_Spring– post war_

Tea cups rattle on the shelves as he pulls open one of the many cabinets in the back room of the Jasmine Dragon. What had Uncle said? Was it the gray cups with the white trim? Or the white cups with the gray trim? The ones with gray and white stripes? The fact that he is faced with all of these options (plus many, many more) is at once stunning and unsurprising. Uncle had apparently taken no time in updating and expanding his collection of tea sets after the war was won. He can’t help but wonder just how many of these were for customers and how many were for personal use. He pushes air past his teeth and reaches for the white with gray trim. They would have to do.

As he starts to collect the cups on the counter, he hears the soft creak of the lanai out front followed by the groan of the heavy door. He frowns. Uncle shouldn’t be back from the market yet.

He yells over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Zuko? Is that you?”

 _Katara._ He calls out to her. “In the back!”

She appears in the doorway a moment later. She looks… different. He hasn’t seen her since she left the capital months ago. Is she taller? No… maybe. But that can’t be it. Maybe it’s her hair, which falls in loose cascades over her shoulders and seems to gleam in the soft light of the tea shop. No, that isn’t it either; she’d worn it that way during the war. Perhaps it’s the simple yet elegant robes that hug her figure and trail the floor. He’s never seen her in green. That must be it. The color is throwing him off.

He realizes that he is staring, and quickly turns back to his task. “Hi, Katara.”

He can tell that she doesn’t know quite how to greet him. He’d seen her welcome her friends in the past, pulling them into fierce hugs garnished with toothy grins. He can sense that she wants to follow that natural impulse but holds back. She compromises by providing that enthusiastic smile but stopping a few paces away. “Hey. Am I early?”

“A little. But that’s okay.” He looks past her, expecting an entourage. No one is there. “Is it just you?”

She shrugs. “The others will be along soon. Aang took everyone to the zoo this morning.”

He can’t help but think of the smell of the rhino pens on the ship, or an unwashed Appa, and struggles to understand the appeal. But he nods and continues pulling cups out of the cabinet. “You didn’t want to go?”

“I did, but I decided I wanted to sleep in more. We stayed up way too late at the Earth King’s coronation celebration last night.” She leans casually against the counter. “We looked for you, but Iroh said you and Mai left pretty early.”

“Mai and I wanted to go to bed. Go to sleep, I mean! It was a long day. We were tired. ” He clears his throat and concentrates harder on the cup in his hands, not sure why he suddenly feels embarrassed. But Katara either didn’t catch his meaning or didn’t want to. When she speaks her voice is teasing.

“I believe it. How many times did she nudge you awake during the coronation? Three?”

Inwardly he cringes; he had hoped no one else had noticed. He was never that lucky. “I’ll have you know that I had quite a long journey. Not to mention that I’ve been busy running a country for the last few months. It’s not my fault the ceremony lasted four hours!” He pauses and quirks an eyebrow at her. “Wait. Were you _watching_ me?”

“N-No!” She sputters. “Aang noticed first and then Toph and Sokka started taking bets. You cost Sokka three silver pieces; he thought you were going to fall out of your chair for sure.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great…” He can already imagine the lecture he will get from Uncle. Katara just laughs.

“Don’t worry, you weren’t the only one. It was really boring. Yours was much better.”

He bites back a retort – _of course it was_ – and mumbles his thanks instead. An awkward silence bubbles up, punctured only by the clinking of porcelain.

“So… is Iroh here?”

“No. He went to the market. He said he was running low on his favorite type of ginseng.”

“Sounds about right. Mai?”

“Shopping.”

Her eyes go wide. “Mai likes to shop? I never would have guessed.”

He gives her a sheepish look. “…She doesn't. But as thanks for keeping me awake yesterday I sent her down to a store nearby that specializes in senbon.”

She smiles at him. “That was nice of you.”

He snorts. “More like the least I could do. She hates those events as much as I do.”

Katara screws up her face. “But you guys were born into all that stuff. Aren’t you used to it by now?”

He finishes putting the cups on the tray and starts reaching in the back for the saucers. “Being born into it and enjoying it are two different things.”

She considers this. “I suppose you’re right.” She watches him stack the plates. “Do you need any help?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ve got it.”

Another beat of silence. From the corner of his eye he can see Katara twirling a lock of hair around one finger. It’s a strange behavior for her; she is never coy. Not with him at least. “So…Iroh told us you’d be serving us tea today. Is that true?”

His suspicions are piqued with the odd tone of her voice. “…Yes. Uncle asked me to.”

“Hmm. So I guess that means you’ll be our tea server for today.”

He frowns. “Yes. I just said that.”

Her eyes sparkle like a dragon-hawk narrowing in on a gecko-rat. Her voice is teasing. “Well then, where’s your uniform?”

“…My uniform?” He looks down at his brown robes and is utterly confused. “You mean my regalia? Why would I wear that today?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, I mean your _uniform_. For serving tea.”

He scowls at her. If this was a joke he was not amused. “I’m the Fire Lord, not an employee.”

She shrugs dramatically. “Sorry, your highness. I just thought since you had one last time, you might put it on for old time’s sake.”

He narrows his eyes. “How would you know anything about it?”

She crosses her arms and her smile is triumphant. “Don’t try to deny it, teabender. I saw it with my own eyes. You were standing right out there and – “

The stack of plates slips from his hands and clatters loudly on the counter. “You _saw_ us?” He ignores the plates and turns to face her. “When?”

Her smirk melts away and her victorious attitude vanishes. “Oh. Yeah. Back when we were all living here. But I, uh, didn’t exactly stay for tea.”

He isn’t sure if he should laugh or wince. “How did you find us?”

“It was a coincidence. I was working with the Council of Five, and I thought maybe I’d get some tea between meetings. That’s when I saw you. You were out there, like I said, giving tea orders to Iroh.”

He starts to restack the plates, but keeps a wary eye on her while she studies the floor. She seems nervous for some reason. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

She rubs the back of her neck. “It never came up. We’ve never really talked about that time before. Not without yelling, anyway.”

The sudden shift in her mood strikes him as odd, and something about the situation tickles at the edge of his awareness, like he’s missing something important but isn’t sure what. “Did you tell the others we were here?”

She shifts uncomfortably on her feet. “Not exactly.”

He still isn’t sure where this is going, but her uneasiness is contagious and he’s almost afraid to ask. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She bites her lip. “I told your sister.”

His blood runs cold. Katara is recoiling as though she is just waiting for him to explode, but he is too stunned to even react. He blinks and cocks his head to one side. “You told my sister?”

She holds her hands up and the words come spilling out. “I didn’t mean to! I was scared, okay? I was surprised to see you here, so I ran back to warn Suki and the other Kyoshi Warriors, but it wasn’t them! It was your sister and her friends in disguise – “

“You told my sister.” He turns to face her fully, his task entirely forgotten. Shock turns to anger as the implications start to click into place, and he can feel his fists shake at his sides. “ _You_ told _Azula_ we were _here?!”_  

"Yes, but it was an accident! And then Ty Lee did her freaky chi blocking thing and they threw me in prison – “

“I can’t _believe_ this.” He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head. “It was you…” His hands fall away from his face and he stalks toward her, pointing his finger in her face. “It was all _your_ fault! I always wondered how Azula found us! _You_ got us both thrown into prison!”

She smacks his hand away and sticks out her chin, getting right in his face. She is taller, but not by much; at this proximity she still has to tip her chin back to look him in the eye. “What, you think I liked it any more than you did? It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

His voice rises, tinged with incredulity. “No! But the whole time we were in there you were blaming _me_! You accused me of plotting to capture the Avatar!”

She matches the volume of his voice. “I apologized for that! I was just angry!”

“But the whole time you knew it was you!”

“I was wrong, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“You said I was a terrible person!”

She explodes. _“And then I offered to heal you!”_

“I – “ He quickly shuts his mouth. What was he going to say, really? There’s no comeback, no defense. It takes no effort to remember her slow steps as she approached, her hand as it tentatively reached toward him, the strange sensation of gentle fingers ghosting over the ruined skin of his face. They stare at each other for one long moment, faces inches apart, searching each others eyes. The anger drains away and familiar shame replaces it. He backs down but does not back away. He hangs his head and can’t meet her gaze. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even want to know what she’s thinking. She might have forgiven him for his betrayal, and they might even be friends, but there was a reason they had avoided talking about that day. He wonders if they’ll ever be able to talk about this without yelling. He wonders if they’ll have the chance to. Suddenly he is worried what this might mean for their friendship, and is surprised to notice how much it matters.

The silence is broken by a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry too. And not just for telling Azula.” Her words fill him with relief. Before he can reply he startles when her cool hand reaches up to rest on the left side of his face. The response is automatic; his eyes flutter closed and he holds his breath. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you then.”

His eyes open and he studies her. She is sincere. It’s foolish, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if Aang and Uncle had waited just a minute longer. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But there was no going back to change it now. He shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. “It’s okay.”

Her eyes shift and study the uneven planes of his cheekbone, her thumb tracing over glossy flesh. “You know, if you wanted, I could see if Chief Arnook would send me some more water from the Spirit Oasis - ”

The back door swings open and Iroh appears carrying a sungi horn and a bright bouquet of pink peonies. Katara jumps back a step, but not quick enough to escape his Uncle’s notice. A feeling of déjà vu overwhelms him, and he almost expects the Avatar to rush in and hug Katara. His Uncle’s eyes shift between them and his lips curve into a grin.

“Katara! So good to see you! You look radiant today. Zuko, would you help me bring in the other packages that were left outside while I start the tea? Our other guests should be arriving _any minute_.” He shoots Zuko a meaningful look.

His jaw drops and he wants to stomp his foot. _It’s not what it looks like!_ Instead he swallows his retort and tries to gain some composure. “Yes Uncle.”

They both watch as Iroh sets the flowers down on the counter and shuffles away into the other room. Awkwardness overtakes him and he rubs the back of his neck. This is not what he thought he was in for when he agreed to come to the Jasmine Dragon today. His Uncle’s little tea party hadn’t even started and he already can’t wait for it to be over. He turns to escape out the back door to gather Iroh’s purchases - and his wits - but her voice stops him.

“Zuko, wait! About what I said…”

Damn. It’s tempting. It really is. But he shakes his head. “Thank you. For the offer, I mean. But it won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be a problem...”

He looks at her. She’s fidgeting with her hands and looking at the ground. She really does look different. Maybe she _is_ different. Maybe they both are. He is startled to notice that his hand has crept up to his chest, his fingers rubbing absentmindedly at scars unseen. He forces his arm to his side. “No. You’ve done enough for me already.”

The smile she gives him is soft and warm. “Okay. I wanted to offer just in case. Though I’m kind of glad. To be honest I can’t really imagine you without it.”

Something warm expands under his skin as she says it, though he isn’t sure why. Her words aren’t even that complimentary. But there is something about the look in her eyes that seems to make the whole room feel smaller. He realizes he’s staring again.

The moment breaks as they hear the front door open and muffled voices begin to fill the tea shop. He recognizes Aang’s laughter and catches a few words about rabaroos and hogmonkeys. She turns her head to listen and chuckles to herself. “Sounds like they had fun.” She looks back at Zuko, and opens her mouth before closing it. She seems to consider something before thinking better of it. “So… I’ll see you at the party, then?”

He nods, and watches her turn toward the doorway that leads to the front room to greet her friends. His limbs seem to move of their own accord; suddenly he is right behind her, his hand reaching for her shoulder. “Katara, wait.”

She turns and blue eyes fill his vision. “Yes?”

He gapes at her, speechless. _What was he doing? Why did he stop her? He could’ve escaped all this!_ Panic starts to take hold and his eyes skip away. They land on the flowers resting on the counter. On impulse he pulls one from the bunch, cracking the stem to shorten its length. He holds it out to her.

“Here…For your hair.”

He shouldn’t feel so victorious about the soft color that rises in her cheeks, but he does. “Thanks, Zuko. Are you sure Iroh won’t mind?”

Inwardly he groans. _Uncle_. “No. I’m positive that he won’t.”

She works the stem into the bun at the nape of her neck and turns for him to inspect. He catches the sweet fragrance of the flower in the air as she moves. “How does it look?”

 _Perfect_. “Good.”

She gives him one last bright smile over her shoulder. “Okay. I’d better go say hi. See you later!” Iroh passes her on the way out, and he resists the urge to run a palm over his face as he sees his Uncle eyeing the flower in Katara’s hair. He steps toward Zuko carrying a tea pot and reaches for the tray of cups that Zuko has collected. He says nothing, and starts to causally measure out the tea. For a moment Zuko thinks he is safe. He turns on his heel to head out the back door.

“So, nephew… “

He flinches and pauses in his steps. “Not now Uncle.”

“What?” Iroh’s voice is irritatingly innocent. “I was simply going to suggest that you go down the street and let your girlfriend know that the others have arrived.”

 _Mai. Right._ “Of course. I’ll be right back.” He storms out of the shop and down the street, shaking the instance from his mind. _It’s not what Uncle thinks. It was nothing. We’ve been through a lot together. She’s always been able to get a rise out of me, and this is no different. So what if I did something nice for Katara? She offered to do something nice for me. It was only fair. I have a girlfriend, and I care about her. It was nothing._

He had just about convinced himself by the time he reached the weapons shop, and had almost forgotten about it entirely as he walked through the streets with Mai, listening to her briefly explain the pros and cons of single and double edged senbon and the reasons she bought both. He smiles at the hint of excitement in her voice. He likes making her happy.

By the time they arrive back at the shop it is easy to pretend like nothing happened. Because nothing _had_ happened. It was a fluke. _Of course_ he likes Katara, she is his friend. That’s all. It was nothing to worry about. That explained everything.

And yet he couldn’t explain the slight ache of disappointment he felt when he glanced out at the balcony at sunset to see the Avatar holding Katara in his arms.

* * *

He thanks the florist with a small smile as he accepts the bouquet of flowers. As always, the young woman behind the counter tries to refuse the silver pieces he offers in payment, but Zuko insists. Once, when he was a much younger man, he might have kept the coins; members of the royal family were accustomed to accepting gifts from commoners, entitled to them even. But Zuko is not a young man anymore.

The streets of Ember Island are crowded as always, even more so than normal as citizens enjoy the national holiday. Spring has finally come to the Fire Nation, and today the sun and moon will share equal time in the sky. Those that notice him smile and dip at the waist as he passes, but most are involved in their own lives and he continues without fanfare or incident. He weaves past couples and families that stroll along the sidewalks. A little girl with pigtails in her hair sprints by and he spins deftly on one foot to dodge. He smiles to himself; he might be old but his reflexes are still intact. He chuckles when her mother gives chase an instant later, shouting apologies.

The sounds of town fade and are replaced by crashing tides and crying gulls as he approaches the shore. He toes off his shoes and enjoys the feeling of sun-warmed sand shifting under his feet. The population thins as he heads farther west. He follows the undulating line of the tides, allowing the sea to lap at his toes. Before long he spots the jutting rocks that frame his family’s home. The climb up the path to the front doors seems to get steeper each time he makes this journey, and he is thankful for the stiff ocean breeze that passes over him as he approaches the steps. It wouldn’t be long before he might have to acquiesce and let someone drive him to town. But not yet.

Servants greet him upon his arrival and welcome him home. They anticipate his sandy feet; they flutter about him and help him to sit while proffering him a warm damp towel. He does his best to eliminate the stubborn grains of sand, and once he is satisfied that he won’t leave a trail all over the floors he nods his thanks before strolling to the back of the house, slipping his shoes back on before stepping outside.

The courtyard is more well-kept now than it was in his adolescence. Gardeners have tamed the vines that climb the wooden posts of the long lanai and the bushes are carefully trimmed. Though cracked and smooth with age, the stones are swept. The fountain at the center displays cascades of streaming water, kicking up clouds of mist that refract the slanting afternoon sun. It is his favorite area of the house. Though he spends time here almost daily, he is still always a little taken aback by the transformation. His most vivid memories of this place are not of manicured landscapes but of overgrown hedges and weeds; not of silence and tranquility but of sweat and aching muscles as he trained the Avatar to control fire.

But today he does not linger here. Instead, he veers right and heads toward the small set of stairs that lead to a copse of tropical trees and vegetation. He climbs them and follows the dirt path, the crowded leaves overhead cloaking him in dappled light. The path bends left but he steps right, pushing his way through low hanging branches that threaten to cling to his robes. His feet follow the trickle of a stream until he reaches a small clearing. He surveys the area and smiles.

“Hi, Katara.”

Of course, there is no one there.

The space is empty, just a small clearance in a thick mass of trees. Tall grasses blanket the ground. The shallow stream snakes its way along the line of trees, bubbling over rocks. It’s a pretty area, private and peaceful. He slowly kneels down at its center and brushes debris away from the flat marble slab that lies flush with the ground.

It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. He remembers her exasperated comments – _how can you stand the heat here_ \- and the way she would bend away the sheen of sweat that bloomed across her chest with the flick of a wrist. But it can’t be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. He hopes the shade and the sound of water appease her spirit should she chose to visit.

The rest of the house may be meticulously groomed, but the staff knows better than to disturb the area beyond the courtyard. Here the plants grow wild, and he frowns as he notes how the grass and weeds are already encroaching on the stone despite his efforts to fight the overgrowth during his last visit.

Kneeling down, he sighs and sets to work. Long fingers pick at the tendrils of grass and stray weeds that have sprouted up around the edges of the stone and pluck at vines that curl across its surface. He tells himself that the tremor in his hand is simply an artifact of old age. Satisfied with his work, he brushes off his hands. He frowns as he discovers the stains on his fingers left behind by the plants. Green smudges have worked their way into his fingertips. He tries to rub away the stains, but they are stubborn, smearing across his palms and corrupting his mood. He curls his fingers into fists and his eyes squeeze shut, attempting to will away memories of this particular shade.

“Green was never a good color for us.”

His fingers unfurl and he reaches for the package he brought with him. He unwraps the bouquet of pink peonies he purchased in the market and separates the stems. One by one he places them reverently around the edges of the stone. He loses himself in this color instead, and smiles at the memory of the flush in her cheeks and the scent of her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This story will be told in four parts/arcs, and each chapter is based on a prompt from Zutara Week 2014. This chapter was “melancholy.” Up next: “slow dancing.”
> 
> It was also inspired by the song “Weatherman” by Tori Amos. If you listen to it, you might get a feel for the tone of the story. And also you’ll have listened to a lovely piece of music, so it’s a win-win, really. 
> 
> Don’t forget to let me know what you think! (PS: I can’t decide which I like writing more: awkward turtleduck Zutara or snarky banter Zutara. Look for much more of the latter in the next chapter!)
> 
> Edit: This chapter has fanart! Treycain03 has done it again. Check out this lovely work of art: http://treycain03.tumblr.com/post/148922578175/she-works-the-stem-into-the-bun-at-the-nape-of-her


	2. Slow Dancing - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the Zutara Week 2014 prompt "Slow Dancing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will be told in three parts; I broke it up because the length was getting formidable. Enjoy Part One!

Zuko sits on the patio of a corner tea shop, sipping the jasmine in his cup dispassionately. Even in the shade of the awning, the climbing mid-summer temperatures make his robes stick to his skin. The summer solstice had come and gone only a few weeks ago but he had not been here to enjoy the festivities. Trade negotiations which he was overseeing on his daughter’s behalf in Ba Sing Se had taken longer than planned, so instead of being with his people he had participated in muted celebrations with Earth Kingdom nobility. It seemed that while he was away the weather had shed the last vestiges of spring. Now the air hangs around him, stifling and thick. Being gone for a month was almost enough to make him forget that the Fire Nation lives up to its name at this time of year.

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair as yet another bead of sweat rolls down his neck. All that stuff about firebenders liking the heat was nonsense; he might have a higher tolerance for it, but even he feels drained and sluggish in this kind of weather.

The people around him seem not to notice. The streets of Ember Island are bustling with activity in preparation for some sort of upcoming festivity. Brightly colored paper lanterns line the streets of the market, dancing on their strings in time with the sea breeze. The smell of fried foods and other delicacies already permeates the air. From the snippets of conversation that he hears, in a few hours citizens and tourists alike will line the streets to cheer for a parade. When darkness falls, they will dance and delight at a display of fireworks to celebrate the day.

They hurry down the sidewalks, anticipation buoying their footsteps. What is it that they are so happy about? He studies them with growing agitation that he can’t quite place. He had thought that people-watching would prove to be an enjoyable way to spend the morning after his return voyage, but it is having the opposite effect. His brow furrows as he tries to place the feeling building in his chest. Perhaps he is just disappointed that he had missed the solstice festivities. Yes, that must be it.

The sound of laughter draws his attention and he looks up from his tea to see a young couple stumbling over a curb, arms linked, struggling to right themselves. The young woman giggles as she overcompensates, pulling them forward. They almost collide into a passerby who shoots them a distasteful look. They find their stride as she shouts out a cheerful apology. Zuko watches from behind as the young man tugs her closer and whispers something in her ear. She responds by digging in a pocket and producing a small piece of paper. Together they approach one of the small bamboo trees that line the sidewalks and fasten the paper to the stalk. He steals a kiss from her as they continue on their way, and another peal of laughter rings in the streets and fades along with them as they disappear into the crowd.

The tea in Zuko’s cup boils. He startles and almost fumbles the porcelain before setting the cup down as gently as he can. He fishes in his pocket for loose coins and practically slams them down on the table as he rises to leave. He folds his hands into his sleeves and makes a hasty retreat toward the house.

 _Of course_ , he thinks. _Of course I would have to come home in time for_ this _festival_. He storms down the streets of the town and heads toward the shore. Along the way he encounters a few more trees just like the one in town, fluttering slips of paper decorating their branches. He isn’t sure how he could have missed them before, but now they seem to be everywhere he looks. His pace quickens.

He had planned on going straight back to the house, but when he reaches the shore he slows. He stops to toe off his shoes as he walks across the sand, carefully easing himself down when he is a safe distance from the tides. It feels comforting, somehow, to watch the rhythm of the water and let the roar of the sea drown out everything else. This close the breeze that comes in off the waves is stiff, though the sky above is cloudless and serene. If he squints, however, he can see wisps of white along the horizon. They may be nothing, or they may be the beginnings of a monsoon. As a citizen of the Fire Nation, Zuko knows all too well how quickly the weather can change.

 

* * *

 

_Summer – three years post war_

_Don’t ever break up with me again._

That’s what she had said. And he hadn’t, not for three years. What she didn’t say was that _she_ was free to break up with _him_. And now here he was, taking his meals and sleeping alone. Again.

It hadn’t been the first time, and he assumed it wouldn’t be the last. He couldn’t blame her; it was usually his fault, anyway. Usually all it took was a sincere apology and a plate of fruit tarts and within a week or two she would forgive him and everything would return to normal.

Except this time it didn’t.

It has been two months and Mai still hasn’t responded to any of his letters, and each time he goes to her home across the plaza he is told no, your Highness, she isn’t there. Travelling, they say. Well, if that’s the way she wants it, fine. He doesn’t have time to be chasing after someone who doesn’t want him. He’s the Fire Lord. He has other things to do.

Except sometimes he doesn’t, and then things are overwhelmingly boring and lonely.

Then his Uncle shows up, and things get worse.

The old man is full of proverbs and calming tea and Zuko just doesn’t want to hear it. He’s _fine_. Why can’t everyone just mind their own business? Just because his paperwork is piling up more than normal doesn’t meant anything. Yes, he had lost control during his morning sparring session, but that wasn’t new. And so what if he had snapped at Minister Lao? He had it coming.

When he cancels his third council meeting in the span of two weeks, Iroh suggests that Zuko could use a vacation. Zuko disagrees. Iroh insists.

Which is how he finds himself on the deck of a small private vessel on its way to Ember Island. He glares at the sea as his mind attempts to avoid words like _banishment_ and _exile_. He tries to convince himself that Uncle has his best interests at heart. It’s true that Zuko has been working almost tirelessly for three years with little rest. The few times he has left the city have been for official visits and he has had little time to socialize or enjoy himself. Not that he really has many friends or even knows how to relax. He tries to comfort himself with the notion that the Fire Nation is left in good hands while he is away and resigns himself to staying for the proscribed amount of time before promptly returning to his duties. Then Uncle will be out of excuses and he can get back to work.

Even from the docks he can tell that the royal property has improved since the last time he was here. The seasonal staff has done well in maintaining the grounds and seeing to the upkeep of the home itself. Servants are expecting him; they welcome him and tend to his luggage. He declines offers of refreshment from the staff and heads toward the second level of the house. His footsteps echo on the wood floors as he climbs the stairs; he avoids the rooms originally assigned to the Fire Lord for obvious reasons. The door to his childhood bedroom creaks in greeting. He stands in the doorway for a moment, hesitating before crossing the threshold.

_So. Now what?_

He crosses to the bed and slumps down on it while glancing around the room. The furnishings are luxurious but sparse; everything serves its function and nothing more. To his knowledge, most of the family’s personal effects had been removed years ago. He frowns as he scans the empty planes of a small desk. What was it that Uncle actually expected him to _do_ here? It’s not as if the beach house was bursting with entertainment possibilities. Things might have been different if he had a travelling partner, but it’s not as if he was going to go to town or to the beach by himself. If Mai were here –

He shakes his head. But she wasn’t here. And she wasn’t going to be. Whatever. Who needed her anyway? He’d find plenty of ways to amuse himself.

He starts by summoning someone to bring his bags to his room and then proceeds to unpack. This takes considerably less time than he thinks it will, though he shouldn’t be surprised: he didn’t really bring that much with him. No matter. He sets up his meditation candles, thinking that what he really needs is to clear his head. After about a quarter candle mark the flames flare as he grunts in frustration before he extinguishes them altogether. He eyes the bed. Maybe if he can’t meditate he can catch up on some sleep. He tries to take a nap, but the presence of the sun in the sky ensures that his eyes won’t stay shut. He rolls onto his back and glares at the ceiling.

It’s only been an hour, and he is already out of ideas.

Reluctantly he trudges downstairs. He requests tea and a snack from the wait staff and veers down the hall to the modest study. Perhaps he can secure a messenger hawk and send a missive to the palace requesting that some of his neglected paperwork be couriered to him. Uncle wouldn’t have to know, and if he works outside in the courtyard it’s kind of like relaxing, isn’t it?

When he pulls open the doors he is surprised to find that the shelves behind the desk are still piled high with old scrolls. Upon closer examination, they don’t appear to be in any order; whoever left them here either had no organizational skills or simply took what they wanted and left the rest behind in a state of disarray. Curious, he pulls a few scrolls at random and secures them in the crook of his arm. He supposes that message to the palace could wait.

Zuko heads out to the courtyard. It looks different than the last time he was here; the plants have been trimmed back and the fountain is in working order. A pair of rattan chairs with a small table nestled in between are situated in the shade of the lanai, and he settles into one of them.

A servant brings his tea and some fire flakes. He sips his tea and opens a scroll. He had been expecting dry military texts or historical revisions, but instead he finds a collection of Fire Nation folklore. The illustrations instantly bring back hazy memories of childhood. Did his mother read these to him? Uncle? He wasn’t sure. Not his father, certainly. He dismisses the bitterness that rises in his chest and concentrates on the first tale. As he reads, a sense of nostalgia settles over him like a warm blanket.

It is only when he begins to squint at the characters on the page that he realizes that the light is fading and dusk is approaching. He rolls the scroll shut and reheats the last of the tea in his cup with his palms, sipping it slowly as he sits in silence and listens to the soft sound of the tides and the singing of crickets. A quick inventory of his body reveals that his shoulders feel less tense and that pressure that’s been lingering behind his eyes has diminished.

Maybe Uncle was right after all. Maybe he _did_ need a break.

Not that he would ever tell _him_ that.

A staff member offers to light the torches in the courtyard, but Zuko declines. His eyelids feel surprisingly heavy. He leaves the scrolls in the empty chair. As he heads toward his bedroom he realizes that he is curious about what else the library holds and makes plans to return there tomorrow. He smiles to himself. This might not be a bad trip after all.

When he wakes in the morning it is well past dawn. As soon as he sees the sunlight streaming through the window he rockets out of bed. _What time is it? Why didn’t someone_ – and then his brain registers his surroundings. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. He can’t remember the last time he slept past sunrise. He contemplates getting back into bed, just to take advantage of the small luxury this trip affords. However, he can’t shake the feeling that he is late for something, despite the fact that today he has no meetings, will hold no court, and will not see a single stack of paperwork. He shrugs to himself. Might as well put this rush of adrenaline to good use.

The courtyard is just as serene as it was the previous night when he steps out onto the sun warmed stones. Not for long. He strips off his tunic and before it can flutter to the ground he is already punching his way through sequences he had memorized years ago, his muscles responding without thought or planning. The very air seems to burn as he twists and pivots across the stones. The temperature around him rises and he can feel sweat start to trickle down his back. It feels good. It may have come with painstakingly slow progress and years of hard work but he is a master of his element now, and nothing else gives him quite the satisfaction or feeling of competence as controlling the fire that flares from his limbs. The only thing that might make it more satisfying is having an opponent, but at this point few are willing to spar with him and those that do he feels compelled to hold back with. Not that there was anyone available at the beach house anyway –

Through a haze of smoke and flame he hears one of the staff members call to him. “Lord Zuko! Please excuse the interruption, your highness, but - ”

Before he can turn to growl at the intrusion, the ground is yanked out from under him and the stones rise up to meet him. He lands hard on his side and his temple smacks against the ground. Stars ignite in his vision and he groans.

_What in Agni’s name was that?_

From his vantage point on the ground, he groggily looks up to discover that the fountain has grown limbs. No, not the fountain. Just the water in it. He watches with utter confusion as a long rope of water unwinds from his ankle and returns to its proper place.

Sitting up, he looks to the lanai where a shocked staff member stands next to a familiar figure in blue, a bag slung over one shoulder. The figure smirks and crosses her arms. “Getting clumsy in your old age, Fire Lord?”

He blinks a few times but she is still there. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. He shakes his head and gets to his feet. “Katara?”

The staff member seems to remember himself. He clears his throat and schools his features. “Your highness, you have a guest. Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Katara shrugs off her bag and jogs toward him. She holds out her arms like she is going to embrace him, but stops short when her eyes catch the heavy sheen of sweat that covers his bare chest. She swallows. “On second thought, I’ll wait on the hug. Good to see you, Zuko. How’ve you been?”

“Better before you showed up,” he grumbles, rubbing the knot forming on his head, though the corners of his mouth tug upward. He is studying her face, still unsure if she is just a mirage or possibly the consequence of head trauma. “It’s good to see you too. But what are you doing here? And why did you sneak up on me?”

Her voice is teasing and unapologetic. “Not prepared for sneak attacks, your highness?”

The response is automatic. “Sneak attacks don’t count!”

She scoffs. “You sound like my brother.”

“Spare me.” He rolls his eyes. “Seriously though, what are you doing here? Do you have business on Ember Island or did you travel all this way just to trip me?”

She examines her nails, looking bored. “Well if I had traveled all this way just to trip you I would be sorely disappointed. Tripping you was no challenge at all.” Her eyes snap back to his and the dare in them is unmistakable.

“Oh, you came for a challenge?” He drawls. He slides back into a defensive posture and lets the briefest of sparks flare from his fingertips. Her grin widens. “Come and get it.”

He catches just a flash of fire in her eyes before she spins and the water from the fountain bursts free, swirling around her and then shooting in his direction. He raises a wave of fire from the ground to block and when their elements collide a thick fog billows up around him. It engulfs him and for a moment visibility shrinks to arm’s length. He readies himself, hands up and knees bent, eyes darting. Each curling cloud catches his attention and his head swivels left and right, his heart galloping against his ribs.

A loose pebble clicks against the cobblestone just to his left and his body twists in the direction of the sound. _Gotcha._ He smirks as she swears under her breath and gives up the ruse, pulling the moisture out of the air to form a water whip over her head. She is quick but he is quicker, and by the time she sees him it is too late. He ducks low and swipes a leg at her ankles, breaking her root. She tips backward and lands on her butt with a grunt. The water she was holding splashes down over her head a second later and with the look she is giving him he is sure that if she were a firebender the droplets running down her face would be turning to steam.

He looks down his nose at her and can’t keep the glee out of his voice. “I guess that makes us even.”

As he flips to avoid a barrage of ice needles it occurs to him that everything about this is strange. He wonders distantly if this isn’t just some surreal dream. A quarter candle mark ago he was engrossed in his own training, looking forward to a long bath and a light breakfast and maybe spending the rest of the morning perusing the library. Now he is engaged in a sparring match with the world’s most celebrated waterbender in his own vacation home with absolutely no explanation as to why she was here. Even stranger is the thought that in this moment the reasons barely matter; there is something about the steam in the air and the ferocity of her attacks that feels like home. If this really is just a dream, he hopes he can sleep just a little longer.

His thoughts are interrupted when one of her ice needles skims his upper thigh, nicking his skin. The sting it leaves behind confirms that he is wide awake after all. He glances at the tear in his pants and then back at her. “Aiming a little low, aren’t you?”

She just smiles sweetly and launches another barrage.

He manages a few flaming punches at her in between batting away her icy darts. She dodges easily and somersaults back. When she pops back up she summons a thick stream that transforms seamlessly into an ice slide. His eyes track her quick path across the courtyard and he aims just behind her in an attempt to melt the icy ledge. Right as it looks like she might waver she flips backward off of the slide and splashes directly into the first tier of the fountain. He sends another jet at her but knows that it is pointless; she is now literally surrounded by her own element. If he hadn’t been so distracted he might have noticed the way she had been maneuvering steadily closer to it. He inwardly curses at himself for not keeping himself between her and the ample water source. She blocks his attacks and gathers a wave behind her, sending it toward him. He tries to dodge but it’s too much. The edges of the wave become tentacles that wind around his body and lift him off the ground. Her eyes are trained on his when she purses her lips and exhales, encasing him in ice.

She looks satisfied but he rolls his eyes toward the noonday sun. She should know this trick won’t work, not on him. Taking a deep breath of his own he exhales a long stream of fire, shattering the ice and landing neatly on his feet. He gives her no time to retaliate; he flips back on his hands and spins his legs, sending out an expanding ring of flames. He can’t see her through the curve of red and gold, but he feels a sense of satisfaction in that he hasn’t seen an effective counterattack either. The ring widens and he flips back onto his feet just as the edges of the flames lick the outer edge of the fountain.

The taunt that was forming in his throat dies when he hears her scream.

His arms immediately swing wide, parting the curtain of flames. When they dissipate his blood stills as he sees Katara standing in the fountain, back turned and hunched over, gripping her arm. He is moving before he even realizes it; his boots slap against the stones as he rushes forward and then fill with water when he vaults over the lip of the fountain and splashes toward her.

“Katara! Are you hurt? I’m so sor - ”

He reaches for her shoulder when suddenly she spins, ice dagger in hand, and nestles the point neatly in the curve of his throat.

It takes him the span of a few jagged heartbeats before his brain catches up and fully comprehends the situation. He didn’t burn her. She is okay. More than okay – she had _tricked_ him. Normally he would feel humiliated for falling for such a stunt, but he is surprised to find that the shaking in his limbs is borne of receding fear instead of growing indignation. He takes a stuttered breath to calm his nerves.

Katara is oblivious and radiates smugness. “I win.”

It’s ridiculous, but he finds that his eyes are still scanning her body for scorch marks. The fact that none are present doesn’t do anything to lessen his guilt. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

She gives him a look. “Of course I’m not hurt. All I had to do was duck under the water, dummy.”

For the first time he notes the hair plastered to the sides of her face and the droplets that clump in her eyelashes. The guilt begins to wear off and the familiar irritation sets in. He frowns. “That was a dirty trick.”

Her eyes are playful. “One that you totally fell for. Come on, Zuko, did you really think that little dance move could take me down?”

He tries to shrug but thinks better of it, the point of the ice still poking into the underside of his jaw. “It worked on Azula.”

She rolls her eyes. “And who defeated her, again?”

“Don’t remind me.” It comes out more serious than he meant, and something unreadable flashes across her features as her eyes flick to the permanent stain on his chest. The ice in her hand melts and she takes a step back.

“Right. Well… good match? I guess we should, um, probably get out of the water now.”

They step out and Katara bends the moisture from their clothes, streaming the excess neatly back in the fountain. It’s an odd sensation but not entirely unpleasant. Two wide-eyed servants are waiting for them in the shade of the lanai, holding towels and a tray of refreshments. Zuko takes a towel and nods before mopping at the damp locks of his hair. His servants retreat into the house and he gestures for them to sit.

Katara collapses into one of the chairs. She waves a hand lazily in the air and water streams from a pitcher provided on the table between them. The stream splits and fills two empty glasses. With a flick of her fingers shards of ice form in each. Zuko reaches for one and the ice tinkles against the edges as he raises it to his mouth.

“Thank you.” He takes a sip and relishes the feeling of the cool liquid as it slides down his throat. The sudden quiet of the courtyard and the waterbender next to him envelops him in a sense of peace. Now that he knows she is unharmed, he has a moment to acknowledge just how _good_ he feels. It has been a long time since he has had such a challenging opponent, dirty tricks or not. He sits back and breathes deep, letting his eyes fall closed as he savors the calming rush of his blood and the sweet soreness in his muscles. In his bawdier moments, Uncle Iroh always said that a good sparring match was just as good as –

“What are you so happy about?”

His eyes snap open. He hadn’t realized that he had been smiling, but he quickly composes himself. “I’m never happy.” The statement is rote, but it has the curve of a question behind it and he has the weirdest suspicion that if Toph were here she would be laughing at him. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. “You never answered me before. Do you have business on Ember Island?”

She gives him a funny look. “…No, I’m here on vacation.”

That was certainly an interesting coincidence. “Oh. Me too.”

She speaks slowly, as if to a child. Or an idiot. “I know. I’m here on vacation _with_ you, Zuko. Spirits, how hard did you hit your head earlier?”

He blinks at her. “ _With_ me?”

“Yes. Your Uncle said – “

“My _Uncle_ – “

“Yes, your Uncle. He invited me to come take a break and spend some time at the beach house.”

“Right,” he says flatly. Suddenly it was all clicking into place. Of _course_ his Uncle had something to do with this. How else would she have even known he was here? By all rights he should be in the capitol right now, wearing heavy robes and issuing orders. He should have been suspicious the moment she appeared in the doorway. Zuko stifles a groan.

She takes a sip of her water and continues. “Sorry I’m a day late though. I had to tie up some loose ends with the people I left in charge of my waterbending pupils.” She glances around. “Where’s everyone else?”

He practically chokes on his water. “Everyone else?”

“Iroh said he was inviting all of the old gang, sort of like a reunion.”

He thinks back to the last reunion they all had in Ba Sing Se, the tea and the patio and the pink flower in her hair. Something strange flutters in his chest. “It’s just us.”

He hates the disappointment that flits across her features before she replies. “Oh, well I’m sure they just got held up too. They’ll probably be here soon.”

Zuko doubts it. He knows his Uncle, and he has the sneaking suspicion that all of those other invitations conveniently got ‘lost’ on their way to the rest of the members of Team Avatar. Katara was going to be in for even more disappointment as the days passed and no one else arrived. He swirls the ice in his glass and decides to cautiously test this theory. “It was good of you to come. What made you accept the invitation?”

“Zuko, I live in the South Pole. It might be my home, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to come spend some time in the sun.”

“…You didn’t want to see your friends?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I did.” She reaches over and playfully tousles his hair. “Well, maybe not you, but if you’re hosting the event I guess it can’t be helped.”

He reaches up and runs a hand over his head, smoothing down the stray strands. “I’m touched.”

“I’m just messing with you Zuko. You know that.” She finishes her glass of water and stands up to stretch. “And it’s _‘our'_ friends. You should know that too.”

He looks at the ground. One corner of his mouth twitches up. “You’re right.”

“Good. Now where’s the washroom in this place? I could use some freshening up after the trip here.”

He stands up and gestures to her as he approaches the doorway. “Follow me.”

He leads her upstairs and together they find the guest room where the staff left her bag. She rummages around and gathers a few things before he leads her to the washroom. She stops at the door and turns around.

“Hey, I could use a few things from town later. You want to go with me?”

“Just tell me what you need. I’ll send someone to get it.”

She waves her free hand at him. “No, I wouldn’t want to bother anyone.” He’s about to tell her that fetching things from the market isn’t a bother for the staff, it’s their _job_ , but she cuts him off. “Anyway, where’s your sense of adventure? You weren’t planning on staying in this house the whole time, were you?”

 _Yes._ “No.”

“Good. Then let me get cleaned up and we’ll go together. Who knows, maybe by the time we get back the others will have arrived!”

She shuts the door and he runs a hand over his face. Uncle Iroh was in for a lecture of his own when Zuko returned.

*****

Though the tropical temperatures of Ember Island make it a popular destination all year round, summer is the height of tourist season. The streets of the market are clogged, and Zuko has to shoulder his way through more than one group of people as he follows Katara while she shops. _Why did everyone insist on stopping to chat in the middle of the road?_ For the hundredth time he regrets not insisting that the beach house staff go to town for them. He could be curled up on his porch right now, eating fire flakes and reading through more scrolls. But no, Katara wants to _shop_.

And she is a shopper, to be sure. Or at least a browser. After purchasing the items that she wanted, she suggests that they continue to browse through the stalls. There are a few items that catch her fancy and she bargains like a champ, securing a few small trinkets at a fraction of the price. He tries to offer his own coins in payment but she refuses, saying something about having ‘saved up for the trip.’ Zuko is slightly horrified by this statement, as it can only confirm that Uncle has planned this out well in advance like tiles on a pai sho board. Well, he had strategies of his own, and he wouldn’t give the old man the satisfaction.

As she pockets her final purchase she announces that she is ready to go back. He stifles a sigh of relief. They make their way west, back through the center of town on the way to the beach house. In the center square they pass a community board papered in old announcements and posters. It isn’t until she calls his name that he realizes she is no longer right behind him.

“Zuko, get over here!”

He doubles back, almost tripping over a little boy who darts in front of him. “What is it?”

She is pointing to a large, brightly colored piece of parchment tacked prominently in the center of the board. “Did you know there’s a festival tomorrow? It says here that it will have traditional food and music and performers. We should go!”

Zuko can think of nothing he would want to do less. But when she turns from the placard she just looks so hopeful and excited that he can’t bring himself to outright deny her. So he tries to reason with her instead. “Katara, I can’t just go to a festival. I’m the Fire Lord. People will recognize me.” _It will be a disaster._

She gives him a skeptical look. “Zuko, we’ve been out all afternoon. Has anyone recognized you yet?”

Actually, he was pretty sure a few people did. The first merchant who relented to Katara’s bids for half-price merchandise had only given in once he had sidled up behind her, eyes narrowed. But for some reason he didn’t want to take that victory from her. Besides, if anyone _had_ recognized him, no one had made a fuss about it. “I guess not.” He searches for another excuse. “But… we don’t have anything to wear?”

She gives him a flat look. “We’re in a _market_.” She gestures widely. “If you need something, now’s the time.”

He imagines another hour of this and suppresses a shudder. “On second thought, I think I’m good.”

Her hand finds her hip. “Any other objections?”

“I don’t like… performers?”

She snorts and grabs his arm, linking hers with his and dragging him away from the board. “You just don’t like fun. But in case you didn’t know, that’s what vacations are for. It’s not going to kill you to get out a little.”

The feelings that spark and radiate from his arm where she is casually touching him tell him otherwise. He swallows. “It might.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. Waterbender’s honor.”

He leans in and speaks softly near her ear. Just to be funny, he tells himself. Not at all because he has the strangest impulse to be closer to her. “You know, you shouldn’t joke about that. Fire Nation citizens take their honor very seriously.”

She laughs and turns her head, and her face is suddenly _very_ close to his own. “So I’ve heard.”

She catches his glance and holds it. For just that moment the chaos of the market falls away. Her eyes soften and unbidden his eyes flick to her lips, which are curved and soft and -

They both jolt forward as they trip over an unseen curb. Her laughter rings out as they struggle to right themselves, and his heart jumps as she squeezes his arm and presses against him. They stumble for a few paces and she is still laughing when they slow to a stop. She lets go of his arm to smooth the front of her dress. His eyes follow her fingers as they sweep across her curves and he pointedly redirects his eyes to the sidewalk. It’s then that he notices that one of her packages had fallen to the ground in the chaos. He stoops to pick it up.

“Waterbender’s honor, hmm? You couldn’t even protect me from a curb.”

Her free hand has found her hip but her eyes shine with merriment. “That curb snuck up on me!”

He can’t resist. “Not prepared for sneak attacks, Grand Master?”

“Someone told me recently that sneak attacks don’t count.”

“That person sounds very wise, you should listen to them.” He holds out her package. “Here. You dropped this.”

She waves it away. “Thanks, but you can keep it. I bought it for you, anyway.”

He startles. “For me?”

“Yes, for you. I bought a little something for everyone.” She shifts uneasily on her feet. “Are you going to be weird about it or are you going to open it?”

He pulls back the tissue and in his palm rests a small token, a pin with an emblem of his redesigned family crest enameled to the front. He recognizes it as something that commoners collect and display based on their support of the reigning monarch. Which is him. He is caught off guard; is she making fun of him? “You bought this for _me_?“

Doubt creeps into her voice. “…Yes? Is there something wrong with it?” He blinks at the object in his hand.

“No, it’s just that…people wear these to show their support for the Fire Lord. Wouldn’t it be weird for me to have one? I mean I know you think I’m some entitled, arrogant – “

His jaw snaps shut when he glances up and catches the look on her face. As he has been puzzling all of this out he hasn’t been paying attention to Katara, who is looking more downtrodden by the second. She scowls at her shoes. “If you don’t like it you could just say so. You don’t have to make me feel stupid about it.”

Shame wells up within him and he hates himself just a little for making her look like that. Panic starts to swell in his gut. He has to salvage this _now_.

“No! No. I love it. See?” He starts to pin it to his tunic while she eyes him warily, unconvinced. His fingers fumble on the clasp. What would Uncle say? What he hopes is an Uncle-inspired stroke of genius forms in his mind. He stops and stands a little straighter.

“Actually,” he says as he holds the token out to her, “it would do me a great honor if you would wear it instead. If people see it being worn by a woman of your bearing it would bring instant credibility to the crown.” He musters what he hopes is his most charming and hopeful smile.

She is giving him that funny look again, and though he maintains his grin, inwardly he cringes to his core. He should have known that that wouldn’t work; only his Uncle could possibly pull off this level of cheesy flattery. He knows he’s overdone it and he expects her to storm off at any moment.

But to his surprise her lips quirk up. “Okay. On one condition.”

His voice comes out too eager at the return of her smile. “Anything.”

“Promise we’ll go to the festival tomorrow.”

The corners of his mouth twitch downward but he quickly recovers. _She’s outmaneuvered you again, Zuzu_. “Fine. We’ll go to the festival.”

She takes a step closer to him and clasps her hands behind her back. “ _And_ you promise you’ll have fun.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “I promise I won’t complain.”

This earns him another pretty smile and his breath catches. She nods. “Fair enough. Now pin that on so I can show my support for the Fire Lord.”

He tries not to look relieved as he leans in to pin the token to her collar. He tweaks the edges so that it sits straight. Just to make sure it looks right, he tells himself. Certainly not because he wants an excuse to have physical contact with her. He banishes his Uncle’s words and replaces them with sincerity. “Thank you for thinking of me. That was kind of you.”

“You’re welcome. Even if you are an ungrateful ass sometimes.”

That was more like it. “I deserve that.”

“Yes, you do. But you’re going to make it up to me tomorrow.” She smiles and relinks her arm with his.

They walk in silence until they are almost to the edge of the town. He isn’t sure if she is quiet because she’s still miffed with him or because she is just enjoying the scenery. He is lost in his own thoughts when she breaks the silence. “Just for the record, I haven’t thought those things about you for a long time.”

“What?”

She elbows him with her linked arm. “That you were an entitled arrogant brat.”

He finds it in himself to be wry. “But I was right, you did think that.”

“Well, weren’t you?”

He wants to say no, but then he remembers his indignation about having to go to town in place of his servants. _Servants_ , for Agni’s sake. He hangs his head. “I probably still am.”

“You think so?”

“I grew up a prince and now I’m the Fire Lord. It kind of comes with the job title.”

She considers this. “That might be true, but that’s not all you are. In between you were in exile and a refugee and the Avatar’s firebending teacher. You fought alongside peasants and rebels. That counts for something.”

“I suppose so.” Perhaps she’s right; those experiences _were_ humbling. And even in his most imperious moments he was never quite as uppity as Azula ever was. At least, he hopes so. These days it was more a matter of habit and necessity than attitude. He looks at her, more curious than ever about this woman who continually tries to look past the surface of things to find the good. The wind ruffles her curls and the sun catches in the strands as they approach the shore. His expression softens. “Just for the record, I haven’t thought about you like that in a long time either. As a peasant, I mean.”

She throws back her head and laughs. This is certainly not the response he was going for. He shrinks a little. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

Her laughter tapers off enough for her to respond. “Zuko, I _am_ a peasant. I know you used to mean it as an insult, but really, what else what I be?”

Embarrassment brings heat to his face. “I don’t know. I guess you just seem like more than that to me.”

Her laughter fades and she gives him a long look that he can’t decipher. “Thanks, Zuko.” As they crest a hill the sea opens up before them and draws her attention. She takes a deep breath of ocean air and leans into him for just an instant. “See? I knew it. There really is a decent guy under all that pomp.”

He leans in as well. “You didn’t always know that.”

“No, but you make it a lot easier to notice these days.”

He stands a little straighter at her words. They travel the rest of the way in comfortable silence, arriving at the beach house just as the sun is sinking into the sea. They share a companionable meal and she fills him in on the comings and goings in the South Pole. She tells tales of teaching waterbending to some of the younger members of the tribe that have joined them from the North. She comments offhandedly that one of the young widowed men asked her father for permission to court her. With distaste in her voice she explains how she had to restrain from making him a permanent part of the tundra in order to maintain diplomatic ties, but Zuko has stopped listening. The last he knew she was in a serious relationship with Aang. The rice in his mouth sours as he remembers that balcony scene. But that was three years ago. A lot could change in three years. And that could change a lot of things now. For some reason the thought of it makes him want to bring back some tea for Uncle Iroh.

After their meal they take a bottle of rice wine and settle into the chairs on the lanai. The torches are lit, casting long shadows across the wooden beams. Beyond the awning the stars wink behind stray wisps of clouds. The silence is interrupted only by the hushed breathing of the ocean and the soft rustle of cloth as either of them takes a sip of wine.

In his peripheral vision he sees Katara turn in her chair to refill her glass. But instead of the bottle she picks up a scroll. “What’s this?”

He gives it a passing glance before turning his attention back to the night. “There’s a small library in the study on the first floor. I was reading yesterday. Actually, that’s what I had planned to do today, but someone sort of showed up and ruined that plan.”

She whacks him on the arm lightly with the scroll. “Are you saying you’d rather have spent the afternoon with these scrolls instead of me?”

“Scrolls don’t force me to take them to the market.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Let’s just see what was so captivating then.” She sets her glass down and unwinds the parchment. A small part of him feels silly; she didn’t need to know that he was sitting around reading children’s tales for fun. He braces himself for the inevitable snarky commentary, but instead she just lets out a long, low whistle.

“Wow, Zuko. I didn’t know you were into this sort of thing.”

His head snaps in her direction. A blush is creeping up her throat as her eyes rapidly scan the characters on the page. He sputters, trying to defend himself. “What? I’m a grown man, I can spend my time however I want.” He slumps in his chair and takes a gulp of wine.

She rolls the scroll shut and stands suddenly, hastily setting the scroll down on the table between them. Her voice has an odd lilt and her eyes skip around, refusing to meet his. “Yep, you sure are. A grown man, I mean - I mean that you can do what you want because you’re grown. And a man. Wow, look how late it’s getting! I should go to bed. Right now. See you tomorrow!” And with that she spins on her heel and disappears into the house.

He stares at the empty doorway trying to puzzle out what just happened. He shakes his head and finishes off the last of the wine in his glass. _Girls are crazy._

He reaches over and picks up the scroll she was looking at out of the stack he had brought with him the day before. A weird feeling gathers in his gut as he pulls it into his lap; this is not the scroll he was reading yesterday. It’s heavier and the parchment is stained with age. After a moment’s hesitation he spins it open.

Across the top frilly characters spell out _Love Amongst the Dragons_.

He cringes a little. He’s not sure that sappy romance stories are any more embarrassing than fables, but that still doesn’t explain Katara’s swift and bizarre departure. He unrolls the scroll a little further and suddenly everything makes perfect, horrifying sense.

This is _not_ the story that his mother told him as a child. Or maybe it is, but this is clearly the _adult_ version. Complete with _illustrations_.

He spins the scroll shut immediately and resists the urge to push it off of his lap. He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans as he imagines having to look Katara in the face over breakfast in the morning. He thinks he might just keep to his original plan and not leave the house for the remainder of the trip. Or his room, for that matter. Instead, he would bide his time and wait to go back to the capital and resume his stressful, tedious job where no one thought he was a secret pervert and he could just pretend like none of this ever happened.

But first, he was going to kill Uncle Iroh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Part Two - festival shenanigans!


	3. Slow Dancing - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Katara attend a festival on Ember Island. What could possibly go wrong?

_I promised not to complain. I promised not to complain. I promised not to complain._

The café is stifling and loud and he’s pretty sure that the men two tables over are already drunk despite the fact that the sun has not yet set. Across from him Katara’s eyes bounce around the room excitedly, and for a moment her envies her enthusiasm. This was certainly not his idea of fun, but as long as she was distracted perhaps they could at least avoid certain conversations. Like ones about literary preferences.

She hadn’t brought it up yet, and frankly he was a little surprised. It was unlike her to miss an opportunity to make him feel like an idiot. When he woke that morning, he did seriously consider staying in his room all day just to avoid any uncomfortable commentary. And he did, for a while. He slept late, spent some time meditating, organized and reorganized the few items in his closet. But in the end, he relented. A promise was a promise, and he was a man of honor.

Not that Katara would let him forget, as was evidenced by her banging on his door early that afternoon to remind him that they had a festival to attend.

He had begrudgingly gotten dressed in what he thought was his most plain and inconspicuous outfit and trudged downstairs where she was waiting in the foyer. Gone were her blue robes, replaced with a long swishing maroon skirt and a matching midriff-baring top that stretched across one shoulder. It looked suspiciously like the outfit she had worn years ago when they had gone to see that stupid play during the war. Except that this time around it looked… better. A lot better. Memories of that night made him think about the Ember Island Players, which of course made him think about _Love Amongst the Dragons_. Which made him think about those illustrations. And Katara. He hoped she hadn’t noticed as his feet stuttered ungracefully on the final few stairs.

She had just smiled and led the way out the front door, though he noticed that she never quite met his eyes. As they stepped out into the sun he noticed a flash of light coming from her shoulder. The pin she had bought for him yesterday winked in the bright light of day, mocking him.

The trip to town had been a mostly silent affair, devoid of the playful banter of the day before and, to his disappointment, any physical contact. By the time they reached the edge of town the smell of festival food was already permeating the air. Inhaling deeply, Katara announced that she was starving, and they walked until they found a small restaurant away from the center of the festivities. Zuko had intentionally seated himself so that his left side faced the wall. He was probably overreacting, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

The men at the table nearby keep stealing sideways glances at Katara and exchanging hushed comments. Zuko can’t hear what they are saying but he is sure that it is dishonorable at best. When they erupt in raucous laughter he braces himself to confront them, but at that moment their server choses to appear. Katara catches his frown but doesn’t comment.

Despite her proclamation of hunger, the meal she orders is considerably light. He quirks a brow at her after their server leaves the table. “Are you sure that’s all you want? I brought plenty of money.”

She waves him off. “Don’t be silly. I have my own. Besides, I’m just saving room for festival food!”

His mood brightens incrementally. “You sound like Sokka. Again.”

She smiles wistfully. “I miss him. I haven’t seen him in almost six months.” She toys with the chopsticks on the table. “I wonder what’s taking everyone so long to get here?”

He knows he should tell her about his suspicions, but an irrational voice in his head tells him that if she knew they weren’t coming she would pack up and leave that very night. And he is finding that he very much does _not_ want her to leave. Instead, he uses the opportunity to probe a little. “Six months? That’s a long time. What about the others?”

She taps her chin with a finger. “Let’s see… I last saw Toph about nine months ago at the grand opening of her second metal bending school. Suki was with Sokka when they last visited the South Pole. And I saw Aang about three months ago. The last I knew he was off to search the areas around the Eastern Air Temple to see if there were any stray herds of sky bison still nesting there.”

Katara’s last statement strikes him as odd; it seemed that Zuko had seen the Avatar more recently than she had, right around the time he had broken up with Mai. Aang had chatted with him briefly after an annual summit meeting, but a quick inventory of Zuko’s memories doesn’t produce anything noteworthy about the conversation. Katara hadn’t accompanied Aang but that didn’t seem unusual at the time; she didn’t always have the opportunity to travel with him. Aang hadn’t said anything about their relationship ending, but then again that wasn’t something that people just came out and announced to distant friends at a political meeting. It’s not like he had said anything about Mai, after all.

The server arrives with their food and they both tuck in. He chews slowly, hoping that in the time it takes him to finish this bite he’ll either figure out how to delicately ask her about Aang or that she’ll offer up an explanation. Neither occurs by the time he swallows. He watches her as she surveys the crowd, looking invigorated by the steady stream of people that has trickled in since their arrival. He doesn’t want to ruin her mood, but he can’t contain his curiosity any longer. He clears his throat and forges ahead.

“…So, did Aang just want to go alone, or did you have something else to do, or…”

The mirth fades from her face as she turns her attention back to him. “No. We, uh, sort of broke up.”

“Really?” He hopes his voice contains the appropriate mix of sympathy and curiosity and none of the inappropriate excitement that is curling in his chest.

“Yes.” She looks at her noodles before turning her gaze back on him. “But what about you? I notice that your shadow isn’t here following you around.”

He bristles and grips the edge of the table, leaning in. “Mai wasn’t my shadow, she was my girlfriend!”

She raises one eyebrow. “Was?”

He sits back and takes a breath. “Yes. She broke up with me a few months ago.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that, Zuko.” She sounds about as sorry to hear about his relationship status as he is to hear about hers. They regard each other for a long moment and her expression softens. Suddenly he worries that she’s going to launch into some sentimental speech about there being other fish in the sea, but her soft smile transforms into something wicked.

“I guess that explains that scroll.”

Heat shoots to the roots of his hair and he chokes on his noodles. “That wasn’t – “

Their server chooses that moment to appear with their bill. He shuts his mouth and fumes, willing himself to relax. Katara swipes the ticket before he can protest and addresses the server, coins in hand.

The server takes one look at her palm and gives her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry miss, but we don’t accept Water Tribe money here. Do you have anything else?”

Katara looks like she is about to launch into a different kind of speech, one that features words like ‘inequality’ and ‘ethnocentrism.’ Privately, Zuko agrees; this is a tourist hotspot and money should be money. But this is not the direction he wants the day to go, nor is this the kind of publicity he needs for the Fire Nation right now. Thinking fast, he digs into his pocket and produces his own coins.

“Here. Will this be enough?”

He makes the mistake of looking the server in the eyes, and it’s obvious from the way her jaw is hanging open that he’s been caught. The server drops to the floor and bows. “My Lord, it is an honor to receive you.”

He winces at that volume of her voice and chances a glance around the room. This display is quickly drawing attention from the other customers, and even one of the cooks has poked his head out to see what all the commotion is about. Zuko quickly gestures for her to rise and then tries to hand her the coins again.

The server looks as though he is offering her an angry scorpion-wasp instead of a few silver pieces. “Oh no, My Lord, anything that you desire is on the house.”

Most of the patrons are now craning their necks, except for the drunks at the next table who all seem to be studying the grain of their wooden table with great care. Zuko stands and pockets the coins. “We won’t require anything else. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He strides toward the door with as much regal bearing as he can muster in his plain clothes and simple hair. Katara follows a beat later and falls into step with him when they reach the street.

As they gain some distance from the restaurant Katara chuckles. “Okay, now I get why you would worry about being recognized. Is it always like that?”

He shrugs. “More or less. Most people just bow or avert their eyes. Some people make a big deal out of it. Some make faces at me when they think I’m not looking.”

“I guess we should be grateful that they just make faces.”

He almost tells her about the regular threats that he receives and the two unsuccessful attempts on his life, but he doesn’t. She doesn’t need to concern herself with that. “It’s highly unusual for me to leave the palace without an escort. Most people aren’t brave enough to try something when I’m surrounded by the Imperial Firebenders.”

She snorts. “Like you need all that. You’re a powerful bender.” Her hand shoots to her mouth and for some reason she looks alarmed. “I mean, your skills should be deterrent enough.”

He eyes her carefully. “…Thanks. But it’s for show as much as it is for protection.” He scrunches up his face. “It’s actually pretty annoying. I can’t even go across the street without someone insisting that I take a palanquin.”

She lays a hand on his shoulder and his nerves sing at the touch. But the look she gives him is dripping in false sympathy. “Life must be so hard for you.”

He shrugs her hand away. “I didn’t say it was hard, I said it was annoying. Even when I want to, I can’t just blend in with everyone else. Besides, I’m sure you can relate. You’re a war hero, and you travel – _traveled_ \- with the Avatar. Don’t tell me you haven’t experienced your own share of hero worship or derision.”

She seems to consider it. “Maybe.” Her face clouds over. “But the way people treat me is just because of the things that I’ve done, not because of who I am. People make up all kinds of fictions about who they think I am or who they want me to be.”

He eyes her curiously. “That’s something we have in common.”

She gives him a sad smile. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The crowd thickens as they approach the center square. The sky above has turned violet with the dusk and paper lanterns begin to wink into life along the streets, casting multi-hued spheres of light across passersby. Already he is sensing eyes on him; more than once someone quickly averts their gaze when he turns his head. He sighs.

“Look, I should probably go back to the house. I’m not just another tourist. This is my country and people know me here. It will just ruin your time.” He glances into the shifting shadows of a nearby alley. “Or it could be dangerous.”

She stops so suddenly that he almost bumps into her back. She spins to face him, one hand on her hip and another wagging in his face. “Oh no you don’t. You promised me we would go to this festival, and you promised you wouldn’t complain. Even you said you don’t ever get to go out and have a good time, and this is the perfect opportunity. Besides, didn’t I say I’d protect you?”

“Katara, it’s more complicated than that – “

“No it isn’t. You don’t need to go home, you just need a good disguise.”

He gives her a flat look. “A disguise?” He itches to point out that a change of clothes won’t eradicate the blaring scar on his face, but he holds his tongue.

She taps her finger against her chin and appraises him. The scrutiny makes him shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Suddenly her eyes light up. “I know just the thing!” She grabs his hand and drags him forward through the crowds, past the center square and in the direction of the market stalls that they had visited the day before.

They stop in front of a vendor displaying a variety of colorful festival-themed items, including noisemakers and colorful bits of string attached to small slips of parchment. Hanging on a display behind the merchant is a collection of masks. He spots them and immediately knows her plan.

“You can’t be serious.”

“What? It’s not like you haven’t worn a mask before, Blue – “ He claps a hand over her mouth and gives her a look. He has worked hard over the years to quell those rumors and he didn’t need them to be reignited. He releases her and takes a step back. She waves a disgruntled arm in the direction of the street. “It’s not like you would be the only one.”

He looks around and sees that she is right. As the sky darkens more and more festival goers appear in their celebratory ensembles, masks included. He turns back to tell her that this is all really more trouble than it’s worth, but Katara is already pointing to ones that strike her fancy and the vendor is pulling them off of their hangers. She holds each one up to his eyes, making a variety of faces in response. It is obvious that some meet her instant disapproval while others remain worthy contenders. He stands with his arms crossed, waiting as patiently as he can while she sifts through what seems like half of the vendor’s stock. Finally a satisfied look graces her features. “This one’s perfect.”

She settles it over his face and adjusts the ties. He wrinkles his nose. “It itches.”

She smacks his arm lightly. “No complaining. There! See for yourself!”

The merchant provides a hand mirror and he turns his head this way and that to examine the mask. It’s a simple design made of dyed black leather and red trim that wraps around the upper half of his face. Gold studs decorate the edges near the eyeholes. It does a passing job; one would have to look closely to notice the mismatched eyes beneath. But it doesn’t quite solve the problem at hand; the edges of his scar that trail down his cheek and stretch across his forehead remain visible.

He points to the left side of his face. “What do you suggest that we do about this?”

Her face falls, but then she reaches for his head. Gently she tugs at the hair around his forehead, pulling long strands free from his topknot so that they hang freely on either side of his face. She examines her work and nods. “That should do it. Actually, that’s not a bad look for you.”

He is suddenly grateful for the mask as it hopefully conceals the color heating his cheeks. “Um, thanks. Are you going to pick one out for yourself?”

She beams. “Yep! I had actually seen these yesterday and thought they were pretty but had no reason to get one. But I guess it’s my destiny to have one after all!” She frowns at the selection. “I had wanted a blue one, but it wouldn’t really match my outfit…”

He turns around and watches the crowd while she makes up her mind. People seem to pass by without giving him a second look, and he begrudgingly admits that Katara may have been right after all. After trying on a dozen different variations, she settles on a design similar to his but with a more feminine flair. The edges by her eyes curl upward slightly and there is a smattering of tiny gold studs that spark in the light like stars. Her large blue eyes peer out at him in striking contrast. “What do you think?”

He swallows. “It’s great. Are we ready?”

But she has turned her attention back to the wares on display. She picks up one of the blank pieces of parchment and holds it up by its string. “What are these for?”

The merchant speaks up. “They are part of the festival tradition, my lady. People write wishes on them and attach them to the bamboo stalks along the streets. At midnight they are burned so that the messages can reach the spirits in the sky.”

“Oh!” She picks up two. “Come on, Zuko, we have to do it! It’s tradition!”

The vendor’s eyes flash at the use of his name. He isn’t sure if it’s out of recognition or because of the familiarity by which she addresses him. Zuko reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose but his fingers touch leather instead of his own skin. “Fine.” She smiles and pockets the slips.

He digs in his pocket to complete their purchase so that they can be on their way, but the vendor shies away and averts his eyes. “I couldn’t possibly accept payment, my Lord.”

Zuko resists the urge to stomp his foot. He lays the coins on the table. “For your discretion, then. Come on, Katara, let’s go.”

He grabs her wrist and drags her back toward the center of town where the majority of the festivities are taking place. In the center square an ornamental firebender is performing on a raised platform to the delight of audiences, manipulating the flames into dragons that spiral into the night sky. They settle onto a nearby bench and watch the performance. Despite the spectacle unfolding in front of him, Zuko finds that he is watching Katara more than the display of bending. Something warm and pleasant settles over him as he observes her open delight, the way she clasps her hands to her chest in anticipation and claps for each trick. He isn’t used to being with someone who is so… excitable. But he finds that he likes it; her enthusiasm is contagious and he allows himself to enjoy the performance. For the first time that day he’s glad he left his bedroom.

His stomach growls, reminding him of their cringe-worthy premature exit from the café earlier. He leaves her side for just a moment to visit a nearby food vendor. He is pleased that the merchant actually accepts his money without protestation; perhaps Katara’s idea wasn’t so bad after all. It felt good to move freely in the crowds. When he returns he offers her a skewer loaded with grilled pig-chicken and roasted vegetables.

“Here. You had a light lunch.”

She thanks him and takes a bite, her eyes rolling closed as she chews. “Mmm. I love festival food. This is so much better than the fire flakes we had last time.”

“Last time?”

She gestures at the performer on stage. “Back when we were trying to make it to the North Pole we attended a Fire Days festival. There was a guy doing stunts just like this.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It… didn’t turn out so well though.” Before he can ask what she means she pushes on. “Can you do anything like that?”

He watches as the performer splits a stream of fire into two, creating human forms. The shapes twist and dance with one another and the audience applauds. Zuko is impressed, but he just shrugs in response. “Not really. I can make some simple shapes, but most of my training was combat related.”

She smiles. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

 _Sometime?_ The casual way she says it implies that they have all the time in the world, but in that moment he realizes that they don’t. It wouldn’t be long before she would return to the South Pole and he would return to the palace, back to days filled with paperwork and meetings and empty dining halls. The thought of it sends a winter breeze across his heart. “…Sure, I’ll do that.”

The firebender on stage bows off to enthusiastic applause and an announcer takes his place. His voice carries across the crowds. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen! In just a few moments time, we will present the traditional tale of Orihime and Hikoboshi! Please take a moment to visit the refreshment stands and join us for this tale of love and tragedy performed by our very own world-renowned Ember Island Players!”

Zuko shoots to his feet. “Okay, time to go.” He’s had enough reminders of that particular acting troupe to last a lifetime.

Katara tugs his sleeve and pulls him back down to the bench. “Zuko! Don’t you want to watch the play?”

He gestures at the stage. “Didn’t you hear the announcer? The _Ember Island Players_ will be performing. Was _The Boy in the Iceberg_ not enough for you?”

She gives him a hopeful look. “Maybe they’ve improved? And anyway, the story sounds intriguing.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her, but realizes she probably can’t see it underneath his mask. “You don’t know the story?”

“I didn’t exactly grow up here.”

“Oh. I just thought that since you wanted to come to the Star Festival that you knew the legend associated with it.” He reviews the story in his head and winces at the idea of watching the drama performed by those imbeciles. “I don’t suppose you’d just let me summarize it for you?”

That mischievous look is back, the one that curls the corners of her mouth rather deliciously. “Only if you promise to do a good job! No skipping over any details.”

“Fine.”

 _“And_ you have to tell it in your best Uncle Iroh voice.”

His hand slices the air between them. “Forget it.”

She shrugs and turns her attention back to the stage. “Okay then, I guess we’ll just have to stay…”

He casts a nervous glance to the platform and sees the performers start to assemble. The gaudy costumes speak volumes about the torture he will endure if he remains here. He grunts in frustration. “Fine. Have it your way. Let’s just get out of here before they start, okay?”

She nods and he grabs her hand, pulling her in the opposite direction of the crowd. Just to make sure he doesn’t lose her in the throngs of people, he tells himself. Not because he wants an excuse to lace his fingers with hers. They make it to the edge of town where fishing boats bob in the water along the docks. The crowds are thinner here and the breeze coming off of the sea feels refreshing. They find a bench and Katara settles next to him, angling her body toward him and tucking one leg beneath her. She crosses her arms and watches him expectantly.

“Alright Fire Lord, you’re on. Story time.”

“Okay.” He feels faintly ridiculous. This _had_ to be better than watching the play though, right? “Once upon a time – ”

“You aren’t doing the voice!”

He frowns. “You were serious about that? I’m really not very good at impressions.” She just levels her gaze. An exasperated sigh escapes from his lips. His voice scratches along the edges of his throat as he tries to do his best imitation of Uncle.

“Once upon a time there was a princess of the stars named Orihime – “

“Wow, you really _are_ bad at impressions.”

He scowls at her. “I just said that! Can I stop now?”

She just shakes her head and continues to watch him, amusement touching her lips. He rolls his eyes and continues. “Princess Orihime spent her days along the heavenly river weaving beautiful cloth. Her father, the Sky King, loved the cloth that she produced and so she did her best to weave designs that would please him. Though she wanted to make her father proud, she also felt sad because she had no time to meet anyone and fall in love. Seeing this, her father arranged for her to meet Hikoboshi, the Cow Herder Star.”

Her tone is thoughtful. “He arranged for the princess to meet a cow herder? He didn’t think to match her with someone more… prestigious?”

Zuko hadn’t really thought about it before; the story was so familiar in the Fire Nation that he just took it at face value. “No, I guess not. Anyway, the two quickly fell in love and were married not long afterward.”

“Aren’t there any details of their meeting? Their torrid romance? You aren’t holding out on me are you?”

“No! I’m just telling you what I know! Are you going to let me tell the story or not?”

She folds her hands into a mocking salute. “My apologies, Story Lord. Continue.”

He clears his throat again. “Orihime and Hikoboshi were married and they began to spend all of their time together. They were very happy, but as a result they began to neglect their duties. Orihime no longer weaved cloth by the side of the river, and Hikoboshi’s cows strayed all over the sky. The Sky King was furious, so he separated them, keeping them on opposite sides of the river.”

Katara crosses her arms. “That was stupid of him. Doesn’t he know that forbidden love always finds a way?”

He doesn’t know why, but something warm and light flutters in his chest. “Uh, right. Well, Orihime was devastated and begged her father to allow her to see him. Her father was merciful and agreed to let them meet once a year on the seventh day of the seventh month, provided that they remained diligent in their duties.”

Katara scrunches up her face. “Once a year? That’s all they got?”

“Yes. And the first time they tried to meet, they could not cross the river because there was no bridge. Orihime was heartbroken and collapsed along the side of the river in tears. Seeing her despair, a flock of magpies came to her and offered to make a bridge out of their wings so that she could cross. She happily agreed, and the lovers were allowed to meet once more. We hold this festival every year to celebrate their reunion. However, it is said that if it rains on that day the magpies cannot fly and the couple must wait for another year to be together.”

He catches her glancing upward and follows her gaze; the stars twinkle brightly against the cloudless night sky. She smiles back at him. “Looks like they’ll be able to meet tonight.” She sighs softly and leans back on her hands to gaze at the stars, exposing the long stretch of skin from her collarbone to her jaw.

Zuko licks his lips. “Yeah, I guess they will.” He startles as he realizes that he is staring and tears his eyes away, focusing on the small ships sprinkling the docks. He rubs his own throat, which is scratchy from his pitiful Iroh impression. The silence stretches out and he starts to lose himself in his own thoughts when she suddenly speaks.

“So, do you know any other stories?”

“You want me to tell you _another_ story?”

She nods. “Why not? I’ve always loved folklore, but I don’t know many Fire Nation stories.”

He sighs. He has no idea why he’s indulging her; he’s been more than generous in catering to her whims over the past two days. But then she flashes him another smile and scoots closer and suddenly he feels a lot more giving. He rubs the back of his neck and recalls the stories he had read in the courtyard before she had arrived. “Well, I know The Badger-Fox and the Eel-Hound, the tale of Druk the Dragon King, The Painted Lady of Jang Hui –"

She cuts him off and leans closer, gripping his knee. “You know the legend of the Painted Lady?”

He can’t help but smile at her. “Would you like me to tell it?”

She nods enthusiastically and scoots even closer until her hip brushes against his. He tries not to react as she makes herself comfortable, despite the riot in his blood. Tentatively, he drapes an arm across the back of the bench, close enough so that it just brushes her shoulders. She responds by snuggling closer. His smile turns into a grin that she can’t see.

“I’m not using the Iroh voice this time.”

Her laughter vibrates against his ribs. “That’s probably for the best.”

He snorts and squeezes her shoulder for just an instant. “Well, once there was a strong, charitable woman who lived along the Jang Hui River…”

They spend the hour this way, trading tales. She tells him of the leopard-seal and the Sea God, and he tells her of the spirits that forged the volcanos. She recites the ballad of Tui and La and he tells her the tale of the three-eyed dragon hawk that tricked the first Earth King into walking the streets of Ba Sing Se without his clothes. The last one has her falling into his lap with laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. Maybe it’s the anonymity that the mask provides, maybe it’s the nostalgia associated with the stories, maybe it’s the excitement of coaxing just one more laugh or captivated look out of the woman nestled under the crook of his arm, but he finds himself getting into the tales, gesturing grandly and varying the inflection in his voice. Either way, this is ten times better than reading stuffy old scrolls alone at the beach house. He can’t remember the last time he felt this enthusiastic about anything, but he has the strangest feeling that if his mother could see him she would be pleased. Another breeze catches the scent of her hair and he breathes it in, feeling happier than he had been in a long time.

After a while, the sound of muffled music reaches them over the sounds of the sea. Katara perks up, and he tries not to mourn the loss of contact. “Do you hear that?”

“I guess the play must be over. They must’ve brought out the musicians so that people can dance.”

She looks confused. “I thought dancing wasn’t allowed in the Fire Nation.”

“It wasn’t exactly illegal, but it was frowned upon among the populace. Aang convinced me to make some changes on that front. Something about the children of the Fire Nation needing to express themselves bodily for reasons other than patriotism… I don’t know, it was all sort of convoluted and I may have acquiesced just to make him stop trying to explain it.”

She bumps her shoulder into his. “You’re such a pushover.”

He thinks of Aang’s lengthy monologue about the importance of allowing people to ‘write poetry with their bodies’ and shudders. “Only if it serves my best interest in the end.”

“Oh? Is that the only reason you’d do something you didn’t like?”

Behind the mask her eyes spark and he is caught off balance by the intensity of her stare. It’s clear she’s no longer talking about policy changes. He mentally begins to tick off the number of concessions he has made on her behalf without any obvious benefit to himself and loses count. He might have convinced himself that the only reason he followed through with this escapade was because he wanted to keep his word, but the truth is he never would have promised any of that to begin with if he hadn’t wanted to please her. He liked to think that he was growing to be a just and honorable man, a leader who was open to sensible compromise and cooperation when the situation dictated. But the bottom line was that he was the Fire Lord: if he was truly opposed to something he could be as unmovable and explosive as the chain of volcanoes that formed his homeland. And yet he had allowed himself to be prodded and cajoled by this woman from the minute she arrived. What was it about her? The only other person who might get away with such brazen behavior was his Uncle. Though to be fair his Uncle didn’t have pretty blue eyes the color of the southern sea…

As she waits for his response the answer slams into him. It was her eyes. Not just that they were undeniably beautiful, but the fact that she _looked_ at him at all. She didn’t avert her eyes; she wasn’t intimidated or repulsed. She didn’t treat him delicately or reverently. She knew exactly what he was capable of and still her eyes sparked with challenge. She looked past everything else - the prestige and the wealth and even their tumultuous shared history – and saw _him._ The realization made him feel both vulnerable and powerful at once.

He doesn’t answer her directly. Instead, he holds his hand out to her. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her lips part in surprise but she quickly covers it with a smile. Her hand finds his, and when her fingers curl around his it feels like a different type of promise. “I would like that very much.” They stroll back toward the center of town. As they approach the square the volume of the music increases and the crowds thicken. Colorful lanterns illuminate the plaza and cast a soft glow over the streets. People of all ages and nations have gathered around the stage where a collection of musicians are joyfully strumming their instruments and pounding drums. Women in colorful skirts and glittering masks spin about their counterparts to the rhythm while small children stomp their feet haphazardly along the sidelines. The atmosphere is loud and hectic and intoxicating. As they get closer the song ends and another begins. He recognizes it from the days he spent on his ship: _Four Seasons, Four Loves._

He leads her into the throng of dancers and turns so that he is facing her. He lets go of her hand only briefly so that he can bow to her in the traditional fashion. She mimics the gesture; something in him is delighted that the depth of her bow is equal to his even though she is probably completely unaware of the faux pas of court etiquette. When they rise he holds his hand out again and as soon as she takes it he spins her once; her laughter rings over the sound of the music as her skirt blooms around her ankles. A gentle tug on her wrist pulls her close and he lightly places his free hand against the curve of her waist. He tries to control the twitch of his fingertips as they make contact with her exposed skin and takes a deep breath. She settles a hesitant hand on his shoulder as though she is not quite sure where to put it. And then they are moving.

He tries to lead her through the a few measures, but she stumbles a little over the steps and keeps glancing down at her feet. After the third time she treads on his toes Katara looks at him sheepishly.

“Sorry. I don’t really know how to dance.”

He can’t hide his surprise. “You don’t?”

“No. Not like this anyway. There was this one time during the war…” She shakes her head. “But that was different. It wasn’t real dancing.”

He feels guilty for suggesting it in the first place. “Look, we don’t have to – “

“No, we don’t _have_ to. I _want_ to dance with you, Zuko. I just hope you’ll forgive me for stepping on your feet.”

“I don’t mind.” And strangely, he doesn’t. In this moment, with her bright eyes trained on his and the electricity that seems to tingle down his limbs from the places where their bodies touch, she could grind his toes into dust and he would take it with a smile.

She keeps trying, and he can see her glancing around at the other couples to take note of the way they move. She may be a bending prodigy, and she may be doing decently for her first try, but her movements lack their usual grace and he can sense her frustration. Her palm starts to sweat in his. He almost opens his mouth to offer some reassurance, but she speaks first.

“Maybe if I just…” She seems to be reconsidering their position, figuring out a way to simplify the dance. She stands back a step and grips his upper arms; he has no choice but to put both hands on her waist. They try this for a few beats, holding each other at arm’s length, but she seems to feel as awkward about it as he does. She shakes her head and steps closer once again.

Her body bumps into his and it seems as though she is always either a step ahead or behind. She was terrible at following him. It dawns on him and he almost laughs – that was _exactly_ the problem. Of _course_ she would never just assume he was in control. He leans in and whispers into her hair. “You’re supposed to let me lead."

She jerks her head back to look at him. “Really? Why, because you’re a man?”

He is taken aback. “Well, that’s not what I meant, but – “

She clicks her tongue. “That’s completely sexist. Dancing should be a cooperative effort.”

He is about to defend himself against this accusation but before he can she edges closer to him and hooks her arms around his neck. For an instant he is thrown off guard; was she hugging him? But she continues to rock her body back and forth to the slow rhythm of the song, and after a beat he wraps his arms around her waist. She is right; now they move together, sharing the task.

She tilts her chin up to look him in the eyes and her face is so close that he finds he has to fight the sudden urge to lean in. Her eyes sparkle in the dim light of the plaza, and she offers him a soft smile. “There. Isn’t that better?”

His voice comes out as a whisper. “Yes.”

She pulls closer to him and they sway on the dance floor. To an outside observer it would look less like dancing and more like two people holding each other, gently moving to the music. Katara looks away from him and closes her eyes, laying her head on his chest. He hopes that she cannot detect the hammering of his heart as she snuggles closer. Or maybe he hopes that she does. If she doesn’t already know the effect she has on him, he’s beginning to think that he wants her to. He takes a deep breath and inhales the sweet scent of her hair. His own eyes fall closed and his arms tighten around her just a bit.

The spell breaks as the song comes to an end. The people in the plaza clap politely as the band pauses to retune their instruments. When they start up again the tempo is lively and unfamiliar. Zuko realizes that he and Katara remain still in a sea of movement and that she still hasn’t removed her arms from around his neck.

She lifts her head from his chest and blinks slowly up at the fat moon that hangs above them. “It’s getting late. Do you think it’s time we went to bed?”

He knows that she could not possibly have meant it that way, but her choice of words conjures images of that Agni-forsaken scroll and he can feel his face start to heat. She seems to catch on and jumps back from him a step. “I meant that we should get some rest! After all, we still have a long walk back to the beach house...”

“Right! Of course. It’s getting very late. What else would you have meant?” He laughs a little too forcefully.

“Exactly! And I know that you rise with the sun and all that, so you must be getting tired.”

“Yes. Very tired. It’s way past my bedtime. Not that I have a bedtime. I’m the Fire Lord. I can stay up as late as I want. In fact, if you want to stay, we can – “

“Nope! I think I’m ready to go. Let’s head back.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Is that okay?”

“Whatever you want.” It comes out deeper than he meant it and the discomfort of the situation only increases. But she only catches his eyes and there’s the slightest hint of that mischievous smile playing over her lips. He hesitantly offers his arm, not sure if she’ll want to take it. He feels relieved when she does.

Together, they start off toward home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not over yet folks! Not when it's just getting good! Get yur post-festival shenanigan fix in the next chapter, "Slow Dancing - Part Three."
> 
> PS: remember those middle school dances where everyone held each other at arm’s length and it was the most uncomfortable and awkward situation ever? Like zombies dancing together? Ugh. Me too. *shudder*


	4. Slow Dancing - Part Three

Zuko and Katara weave their way through the dancers and set off toward the edge of town. On the way, Katara pulls him toward a vendor selling sweet pastries, announcing that they deserved a treat for later. While she is busy choosing what she wants he browses a nearby merchant’s selection of teas. Zuko knows little about tea, but he purchases a small tin of the most expensive one on display. He knew a crafty old Dragon back in the capital who deserved a treat as well.

The soft lights and bustling activity of town fall away as they head down the path through the rocky hills that will lead them to the shoreline. The evening is balmy and thick, though the breeze rolling off of the ocean keeps them cool. The farther they get from town the quieter things become; the only sounds are the insects that sing in the tall grass and the crunch of gravel under their feet. While the silence on the way to town that afternoon had been unnerving, this silence feels entirely different, like this walk was something they had done a thousand times together and they felt comfortable enough to share the space without words.

When they reach the shore, Katara grins at him before tearing off her shoes and running gleefully out onto the beach, kicking sand up in her wake. He takes his time removing his own shoes and then follows after. He can hear her laughter from a distance as she approaches the tides. She tosses her sandals to the sand and pulls a thick stream of water to her command. It wraps around both of her arms and she spins, the water twirling skyward. A soft smile touches his lips and when he gets close enough he simply sits down in the sand to admire her. She runs through a series of forms; most he has seen and some he has not. All are graceful and captivating. When did he become so fascinated by waterbending? All he knows is that he cannot watch her and be indifferent; in this moment she is joy incarnate and she is breathtaking to behold.

When she emerges from the sea her long hair is dripping onto the sand and her red robes cling jealously to her curves. The full moon above casts a soft glow on her moist skin and the effect is altogether spellbinding. His breath hitches as she weaves her hands over her body, pulling the moisture from her skin and streaming it back to the sea.

She scans the beach and spots him, waving and jogging to where he sits. She plops down on the sand next to him, flushed and breathless. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I love bending at night, especially with the sea. It just feels incredible.”

“You looked incredible.” His eyes pop and he tries to take it back. “I mean your bending! It was really incredible to watch.”

Even in the dark he can detect her blush, and when she bites her lip and shifts her gaze shyly to the sand it takes all of his self-control not to reach out and touch her. She scoots a little closer to him so that she can nudge him with her elbow. “Thanks. You were pretty impressive yourself yesterday before I interrupted you.”

He can feel heat in his face all the way to the tips of his ears. “Well, didn’t you say I was a ‘powerful bender’?”

“I did…” She looks thoughtful for a moment and then leans her shoulder against his, turning her eyes to the sky. “So which ones are they?”

“Which ones are what?”

“Orihime and Hikoboshi. The stars from your story.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head upward and scans the sky. When he spots them he leans against her shoulder and extends his arm. “Right there. See the three that come together at an angle? That’s Orihime. And then the bright one surrounded by the smaller dim ones is Hikoboshi.”

“Hmm.” She scoots in the sand until her hip is flush with his and tries to align her gaze with his arm. She points up, but too far to the east. “Those there?”

He swallows and places a hand behind her so that he can lean closer still, her shoulder blade brushing against his chest. “A little farther to the left.”

Her hand finds his knee and she angles her body further, so much so that her cheek almost brushes with his. The pointed edge of her mask bumps into his and she laughs softly. “It might be easier to see without these.”

Instead of reaching for her own she twists and reaches behind his head with both hands, fingers working at the knots that hold his mask in place. After a beat he lifts his hands and returns the favor. His fingers tremble on the cords of her mask and at this rate he is certain that he will never get it off. It doesn’t help that at this proximity he can feel her soft breath on his face and she is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration and she just smells so _good_. His hands fumble twice more before he feels the cords finally slip and fall away. He pulls the mask from her face just as she is finishing with his. He blinks as his vision expands and is filled with bright blue eyes. She sets his mask in the sand and reaches for him once more, tracing a finger along his forehead, brushing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. Her eyes flick to his lips.

It would take no effort to close the distance between them, and in this moment there is nothing he wants more. He’s even relatively certain that this is what she wants, too. His blood sings at the prospect.

And yet he can’t.

He swallows and leans back a fraction, hating himself for being too much of a coward to follow through. He is the Fire Lord, for Agni’s sake, he is used to having his way and getting what he wants. But commanding soldiers and issuing decrees was so much different than this; this was a negotiation, and he had to make sure that he got it right. There was far too much at risk if he was wrong.

Disappointment flashes across her face the instant he withdraws and immediately he knows that he has made the wrong choice. She twists back to face the tides and her eyes search the waves emptily. He silently curses and mentally scrambles for the best way to salvage the situation. After a quick prayer to the spirits he places a tentative hand on her knee.

“I have an idea.”

She gives him a questioning look as he removes his hand and scoots behind her. He hooks one leg on either side of her hips and then pushes forward until she is enveloped. He slips an arm around her waist and pulls her back flush against his chest. His other arm extends past her shoulder so that it is aligned with her sight and he trains his finger on the stars. He speaks low into her ear and he can hear her breathing catch. “There. Do you see them now?”

She settles back against him and weaves her fingers with the ones he has at her waist. “Yes. They’re beautiful.”

He lowers his arm and lets it join the other around her waist. His chin nestles into the crook of her shoulder. For a long while the only sound is the hush of their breathing in tandem with the tides. He shuts his eyes and tries to memorize the way her body fits into his, the curve of her spine against his chest, the feel of her skin under his fingers. He sighs contentedly and thinks that he really should have bought Iroh more tea.

She leans forward, breaking contact and forcing his head from her shoulder. He loosens his grip on her waist and he can’t shake the weight of the disappointment that is quickly settling into the spaces where her body once was. _This couldn’t last forever, Zuzu, and you knew it_. Already he is bracing himself for the awkward walk home and preparing excuses for why he has to return to the Fire Nation ahead of schedule.

Which is why he is completely unprepared for when she half-turns in his lap and darts in, pressing impossibly light lips against the corner of his mouth. She lingers for only a heartbeat before withdrawing and sitting back. He blinks at her and she gives him a shy smile.

“Thanks, Zuko. For taking me to the festival. I had a really good time.”

It takes him a moment to recover, and when he does it is not enough to produce anything remotely witty or charming. “Oh. I did too. It was… nice.” Mentally he winces and resists the urge to run a palm over his face. _Nice? Really? Very suave, Zuzu._

She edges away from him and pushes playfully at his chest. The teasing spark has returned to her eyes and it may be this more than anything else that finally sends him over the edge. “Nice? That’s all you have to say? Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t at least have a little f – “

All of his discipline and self-control dissolve as his hand shoots up and closes around her wrist, yanking her forward so that he can cover her mouth with his own. His other hand finds her jaw, cradling her face in his long fingers. He is instantly torn between how right it feels and how wrong it was to act this impulsively. At his touch she inhales sharply through her nose and goes perfectly still. He squeezes his eyes shut and furrows his brow; he knows with absolute certainty that he has taken this too far and that he has ruined their evening completely. Anxiety bubbles in his gut as he anticipates her reaction, but he knows he has to face it no matter what it might be.

He sits back carefully and studies her, his muscles tensed and ready for whatever she might do. Her eyes remain closed and he watches as she slowly presses her lips together to moisten them. She slowly lets out the breath that she was holding before blinking open her eyes. Her expression betrays nothing.

Zuko blushes and ducks his head. “What I meant to say was that it was, um, really nice.” He starts to fidget with his hands. “Look, I’m sorry, I don’t know why –“

But he doesn’t finish, because her hands have found his hair and she is already pulling him back in. Her kiss is like her bending, powerful and graceful and fluid. His eyes flutter closed as she twists in his lap, her lips never leaving his as she readjusts and straddles him there on the sand. The shift in position seems to ignite something within her; she squeezes the insides of her thighs against his hips and presses harder against his mouth. As always with her, he is never one to back down from a challenge; he rolls his hips and nips at her throat. The groan he earns in response is all the encouragement he needs to trail his mouth along her exposed collarbone and nibble on her ear.

Her hands push gently at his shoulders and he leans back, letting her settle her weight on top of him. Sand grinds into the hair at the back of his head; he feels his topknot start to come loose. He growls at the distraction and reaches up to tug the band loose, tossing it aside. She responds by running her fingers through the loose strands and sighing against his mouth.

When she dips her head to run her lips along his throat his hands tighten on her hips and he bites his lip. Her teeth graze his collarbone and his eyes blink open for just an instant, vaguely registering the dim light of the stars. He comes back to himself just enough to realize how surreal this moment really is; if he was surprised to be engaged in a bending battle with her yesterday, he is stunned to find himself on his back in the sand as her fingers work to untie the knots of his belt. He is discovering that she has a great talent for sweeping him off of his feet, both literally and figuratively. The way she keeps him on his toes and slightly off balance is exciting and new; he is eager to see just how many other surprises she has up her sleeve.

Until he remembers that all of this is temporary.

This is a fantasy, a brief and fleeting rendezvous that was never designed to last. It wouldn’t be long before they went their separate ways. It should be impossible, with her body flush against his and her fingers ghosting up the skin of his ribs, but he finds that he misses her already. And not just this; he misses the banter and the teasing and the goading and all of it. All of _her_. He squeezes his eyes shut again and runs his hands up her back and brings her mouth back to his, kissing her fiercely. If their time together had to be brief, he would at least make it memorable.

He hooks an arm around her waist and flips her over in the sand. She squeaks in surprise and grins against his mouth. He pulls back for just an instant to admire her, the way her hair fans out beneath her and the intensity of her eyes. Her breathing is shallow and her skin is flushed. He can’t believe how lucky his is. Then the corner of her mouth quirks up.

“So was that one of the tricks you’ve learned from reading those dirty scrolls?”

His eyes pop. “I’ve been trying to tell you all day that those scrolls weren’t mine!”

Her fingers trace a line along his spine. “Oh? That’s too bad.”

“I just pulled them at random and – wait, did you say that’s _too bad_?”

The look she gives him ignites the blood in his veins and spreads warmth from his scalp to the tips of his toes. Suddenly those illustrations didn’t seem so embarrassing. He mimics the look and leans in close, his hair curtaining her face. “Who says I need any scrolls?”

She darts up and gently nips his bottom lip with her teeth. When she lets her head fall back to the sand the challenge is in her eyes once more. “Prove it.”

His lips find her pulse and his fingertips trail along her ribs, grazing the sides of her breasts as he leaves lingering kisses along her sternum down to the flat planes of her stomach. The skin there is petal-soft and he brushes away the grains of sand that fall from his hair before he covers these spots with his mouth. She arches beneath him as his lips explore each patch of exposed skin. As her fingers curl into his hair he grins to himself, one palm groping for the knee that has hooked itself loosely around him, dragging his fingers in a slow ascent along the length of one long thigh.

And then suddenly her fingers stiffen in his hair and she stills. He immediately snatches his hands away, thinking he must have gone too far. He glances up at her and he can see her eyes scanning the sky. Her voice comes out as a whisper. “They’re gone.”

“What? Who’s gone?”

She points. “The stars. They’re gone.”

He pushes himself into a kneeling position, allowing himself to settle a hand lightly on each of her legs. He cranes his neck and discovers that she is right; over the ocean the sky is black, though hazy stars and the ghost of a full moon are still visible in the direction of town.

Katara sits up. “Looks like it’s going to rain.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Summer brings quick storms here in the Fire Nation. They can be intense, but they don’t normally last very long.”

A flash of light brings fleeting daylight to the waves far offshore. A muffled rumble follows after a few heartbeats. Katara hugs her arms. “We should head inside.”

There is an uncharacteristic hesitancy in her voice. He doesn’t understand her sudden shift in mood; she has caught him off balance once again but this time he isn’t sure how to respond. He injects some levity into his voice, hoping to bring back her smile. “Afraid of a little rain, waterbender?”

She frowns at him. “Zuko, I’m serious. Let’s g – “

Fingers of lightning split the air a few miles offshore. Katara visibly flinches. He reaches for her, curls his fingers around her shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head as though she is clearing away unpleasant thoughts. She pulls his hand off of her shoulder and weaves her fingers with his. “Please. Let’s just go, okay?”

“Okay.” He eyes her carefully as he pulls them both to their feet. He dusts the sand from his clothes and quickly collects the stray objects strewn about the beach: their masks, their shoes, the band for his hair, Uncle’s tea. He pauses to retie his belt. She waits for him with arms crossed over her chest, looking small and fragile, not at all like the Katara he knows so well. When she sees that he is ready she spins on her heel and beats a hasty retreat toward the beach house.

As they trudge up the road they can hear the distant sound of the rain as it pelts the sea, like thousands of ball bearings rolling down a tin roof. Katara picks up her pace and stands impatiently at the front door as he struggles to catch up.

Zuko ushers her inside and the doors shut behind them with a hollow bang. It is dark in the foyer except for a few lanterns burning low along the walls which do little to chase away the shadows. He tosses their belongings onto a table near the door. Above them, hurried footsteps creak on the floorboards of the second floor. A minute later a single staff member emerges at the top of the stairs, hastily shrugging on a robe and balancing a small flame that hovers over one open palm.

“My Lord! My apologies for not attending to you. The staff thought that perhaps you had decided to stay in town for the night.” He reaches the bottom of the stairs and bows awkwardly, holding the flame out to one side. “How may I assist you?”

Zuko glances at Katara. She seems less tense than she was a few minutes ago, but her gaze is distant and fixed into the shadows of a nearby hallway. He hopes that it is too dark for the staff member to notice the tangles in her hair and the state of their clothing, but it seems that it would be impossible to miss. Suddenly the comment about the two of them staying the night in town seems much less innocent. Zuko remembers himself and squares his shoulders, though he barely restrains a grimace as grains of sand fall from some hidden fold in his clothing and softly patter against the wooden floor. He does his best to muster his most dignified voice.

“Two damp towels and a pot of ginseng.”

“Right away, your highness.”

The staff member scurries away, leaving them in the dim light of the foyer. Katara doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. She just keeps staring intently down the hall. Zuko brings down one of the lanterns from the wall near the door. The flames jump at the wave of his hand and he extends his arm, offering the lantern to her. “Is this better?”

“I’m not scared of the dark, Zuko.” She says it like it is the most obvious thing in the world, but the truth is he has no idea what she needs. He takes a half step back.

“What it is then? What’s wrong?”

The staff member reappears, carrying a tray bearing the items he requested. Zuko nods. “Take those to the sitting room.”

He approaches Katara carefully, the way one might approach a wounded animal. He takes her gently by the elbow. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

He leads her down the hall, one hand on her arm and the other carrying the lantern. When they arrive in the sitting room the tray has been left on a table for them and the lamps in the room have been lit. He adjusts the lighting and pulls the door shut. Katara sits down gently on the couch and reaches for the teapot. Her fingers shake just a little as she pours two cups. The cushion sinks under his weight when he sits down next to her.

Katara sits in silence and sips her tea. The atmosphere is tense and Zuko can’t help but feel that somehow it is all his fault. He knows that if their positions were reversed, Katara would know just what to say or what to ask. She’d be prepared with a dozen statements designed to ease away any pain or discomfort and make things right. She is compassionate and kind, this sort of thing is second nature for her. But for Zuko, comforting others is a limited skill at best. But just because he wasn’t good at it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. His strength is in persistence; he never gives up without a fight. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees and tries again.

“Tell me how to help you and I will. Whatever you need, it’s yours. Just ask.”

From the corner of his eye he can see her lips curve up ever so slightly. “I’ll be okay. Sorry to freak out on you like that.”

He wants to touch her but doesn’t, not sure of how she’ll react. “Is there anything you want?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.” Her tone suggests otherwise. She takes another sip of tea but then wrinkles her nose in disgust. She swallows and probes the inside of her bottom lip with one finger. “Ugh, how did I manage to get sand in my _mouth_?”

He can’t help but be wry. “I could venture a guess.” This earns him a small laugh that causes hope to bloom in his chest. He reaches for one of the towels on the tray. “May I?”

She nods, eyes curious. He shifts off of the couch to kneel in front of her. He heats his hands just enough to warm the damp towel before applying it to the soles of her feet, brushing away the dried sand and rubbing off the dirt. Katara sighs and leans back, cradling her cup of tea in her palms. When he adds pressure to the balls of her feet as he scrubs her eyes drift closed and he can feel her relax under his ministrations.

“This reminds me of the time Toph and I visited a spa in the Upper Ring during the war. It was a real treat.”

“Toph let someone touch her feet?”

She chuckles. “I wouldn’t say she ‘let’ them. And they certainly regretted trying. I think she preferred the mud treatments. I liked the sauna best.”

He winds the towel around her ankle. “You should move to the Fire Nation then. The entire country is a sauna.”

She laughs. “You’ve got that right.” She sighs as he massages the cloth into her calf. “You’re pretty good at this. Was this part of your royal education?”

He tries to picture one of his old tutors teaching Azula how to give a pedicure and he almost laughs out loud. “No. But I’ve been on the receiving end of it enough to pick up a few things.”

“I see. Another one of the perks of being of being Fire Lord?”

“You could say that. Though in exchange you have to be willing to put up with mountains of paperwork, childish politicians, and impossible budgets.”

“Well, if you get tired of all that, with a little training you might just have a promising career as a masseuse.” The look he gives her is long-suffering, but privately he feels just the slightest bit proud that he has brought her some relief. His motions become more deliberate; he puts more effort into doing a thorough job. He finishes with her right leg and moves to her left. When he rubs his thumbs against the arch of her foot she groans contentedly. She gives a long sigh of satisfaction, and under her breath, so soft that he knows he wasn’t meant to hear it, she mutters: “Mai was a fool to give this up.”

But he does hear it. His hands still and her eyes shoot open. She sits up, raising a hand to cover her gaping mouth. “I am _so_ sorry, Zuko. I didn’t mean that. Really.”

He holds her gaze for a tense moment, searching her eyes and deciding that she is sincere. As he considers her comment he isn’t quite angry and he isn’t quite sad, it’s more of an odd constricting feeling that winds around his ribs. He turns his attention back to her ankle and resumes his work.

“I never did this for her.”

He might not have thought about it if she hadn’t said anything, but the idea of it ripples across his mind. It’s such a little thing, such a small difference, but somehow it takes root and expands, leaving behind an empty space that collects all the little things that his life might have been lacking in the past three years. They add up to more than he thought they would.

In his peripheral vision he can see Katara deflate a little. “You don’t have to do it for me, either.”

His wrist manipulates the towel around her calf, keeping the motions chaste and moving only as far as her knee. “I know I don’t. I want to.” Satisfied with his work, he discards the soiled towel on the tray and reaches for the fresh one. “Give me your hand.”

She hesitantly extends her right arm and he grasps her gently by the wrist, carefully wiping each of her fingers and rubbing small circles into her palms. She seems wary, as though she can’t figure out why he hasn’t stomped out of the room yet. It wasn’t unfair; under other circumstances that might have indeed been his reaction. But touching her like this is surprisingly soothing, and right now soothing is what he needs. He feels emotionally unbalanced, teetering between hurt and desire, past and present. He wants to be angry at Katara but he isn’t. He wants to comfort her, but he doesn’t even know what set her off in the first place, which only ends up leaving him feeling incompetent and powerless. It’s all a little overwhelming, so instead he focuses on the task at hand, methodically cleaning one patch of skin at a time.

After finishing with her hands he finds a clean spot on the towel and reaches for her face. He has only started brushing off the edge of her jaw when her fingers close around his wrist, forcing him to stop.

“Zuko, I have to tell you something.”

Immediately he is on edge. The evening has already taken an emotionally uncomfortable turn and he isn’t sure that he wants to hear whatever it is she is compelled to confess. The worry in her face only reinforces this. He narrows his eyes and lowers his hand. “What is it?”

She bites her lip. “Promise you won’t be mad.”

He eyes her warily. “I’ve already promised you quite a few things since you arrived, Katara.”

The look in her eyes is pleading. “And you’ve followed through on each one. Just one more. Please.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I promise I won’t be mad.” Irate, maybe. Irritated, annoyed, exasperated, perhaps. But not mad. He braces himself and takes a calming breath.

She looks away guiltily. “I knew about you and Mai. That you had broken up.”

He blinks. Of all things, this is not what he was expecting her to say. “You did?”

“Yes. Iroh writes to me regularly. He mentioned it in one of his letters.”

“Did he now?” Crafty old Dragon, indeed. But Zuko is still puzzled. “I don’t understand. Why would I be angry about that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It… might have had an impact on my excitement to come on this trip. But more than that, I just didn’t want you to think I was being dishonest with you. It didn’t feel right not to say something.”

His own lies of omission blaze against the surface of his conscience. He sighs. “I suppose I have a confession as well.”

Her eyebrows jump. “You do?”

It’s his turn to look away. “I don’t think the others are coming. I didn’t even know _you_ were coming until you showed up in the courtyard. I think this entire trip might just be a product of my Uncle’s weird sense of humor. I didn’t tell you about my suspicions because I didn’t want you to be disappointed that it was just us. I’m sorry.”

She is quiet for a moment and he suddenly wishes that he had made her promise not to be angry as well. “Actually, I’m glad.”

He blinks in surprise. “You are? I thought you wanted to see your – _our_ friends?”

She smiles. “I did. And I’m sure if they were here it would have been fun. But if they had been, it would have been so much different.” She laughs. “Come on, do you really think Aang or Sokka would have just stood by while we rolled around on the beach?”

He pictures a glowing Avatar and a furious Sokka chasing him across the sand, wielding a staff and a boomerang respectively. He shudders. “Good point.”

“Well, the main point is that I’ve enjoyed spending time just the two of us. It’s been – how did you describe it? – really nice.” She reaches out and cups her hand against his jaw, tracing a thumb against his cheek. Her expression is tender as she leans in, her lips gentle as they press against his.

Her arms come up around his shoulders as he kneels there in front of her. This kiss feels just as good as the others, though the tone is vastly different. The passion is present but subdued, replaced with something else, something sweet and vulnerable and soft.

Just as his fingers start to slip into her hair, thunder cracks against the walls of the beach house, startling them apart. The rumbling lingers for a few heartbeats before fading out, and it isn’t long before they can hear fat raindrops pelting against the roof. Katara tenses under his touch at a flash of light which illuminates the windows that stretch along one wall.

None of this makes any sense. Perhaps he could understand wanting to avoid the storm when they were out in the open, but they were inside now. He frowns. “What’s going on, Katara? It’s just rain.”

“It’s not the rain. I love the rain.” Her eyes find his and her hand reaches out, fingers splaying against his chest, just below his heart.

_Oh._

There are a few things he could say in response. His first instinct is to apologize. He could tell her that he was sorry for scaring her all those years ago and putting her in danger, that it was stupid of him to taunt his sister like that. His next impulse is to offer reassurance, to remind her that it was all a long time ago and that all of the lightning benders with the exception of his Uncle were either incapacitated or incarcerated and could never hurt anyone ever again. He could even tell her that he has perfected the redirection technique since then or joke that his family had tried to kill him with lightning on three separate occasions and none had ever been successful. But even he knows that all of these things would be missing the point entirely.

Another flash of light illuminates the room and she flinches. He covers the hand at his heart with his own. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes in response and she gives him a sad smile. The impact of her expression hits him harder than any lightning ever could, jolting him with insight. He had always known that she was grateful to him for saving her life just as he was grateful that she had saved his. He had known that Sozin’s Comet was an emotional experience for everyone and that the final battle had left her frightened and shaken. He had tried to dismiss her concern, chalking it up to practicality: his loss would have meant the world would have been subjected to the reign of Fire Lord Azula, and after all of their hard work to restore balance he had almost ruined it for everyone with one dumb mistake. It never occurred to him back then – _especially_ back then – how much she _cared_. But as he looks at her now, he knows better. It wasn’t about the fate of the world. It was about _him_. As he remembers the storm of emotion that had coursed through him as he broke his stance and dove for that bolt, he thinks he understands.

He rises from the floor and moves to the couch. He doesn’t hesitate or ask permission, he simply seats himself beside her and pulls her into arms. This gesture seems to be her undoing; she buries her head in his shoulder and fists her fingers into his tunic. He can’t be sure how long they remain this way, but eventually the storm outside and the one in his arms calm.

When she lifts her face to look at him, grains of sand from his shirt are stuck to the drying tracks of her tears. He runs a thumb across her cheek. “We really are a mess.”

Her smile is a little broken, but he internally rejoices at its return nonetheless. She sniffs and sticks her nose in the air. “Well, maybe _you_ are. _I_ had a personal cleansing session with the Fire Lord himself.”

He returns her smile. “Oh? He sounds like quite the gentleman.”

She shrugs, but her eyes shine with merriment and something else he can’t quite define. “I suppose. He’s really a pretty decent guy once you get to know him.”

“Underneath all of the pomp and entitlement, you mean?”

Her smile expands. “Exactly. I wouldn’t wear this to show my support if I didn’t think so.”

He glances down to the pin on her shoulder, the symbol of his house displayed against soft folds of crimson fabric and tan skin. Something sparks in the back of his mind, a half-formed and ridiculous notion that he dismisses but which makes him smile all the same. “It suits you.”

“You think so?” A fit of yawning interrupts her smile. “Wow, I know I said it was late before, but now it’s actually true. Ready for bed?”

He raises his eyebrow at her; those innuendos weren’t as farfetched as they had been earlier that day.

She narrows her eyes and pokes a teasing finger into his chest. “Don’t think for a second that I can’t tell what’s going through your mind right now, your highness. I meant that we should get some sleep. In our own rooms.”

His laugh is genuine. “I knew what you meant. Come on, let’s go.”

They stand up and smooth out their clothes. As her hands brush over her hips they can hear the sound of crinkling parchment. Her eyes widen and she digs into her pocket, producing two wrinkled pieces of parchment on strings, the ones that they had purchased at the festival. Was it really only a few hours ago? It felt like a lifetime.

“Zuko! We forgot to write our wishes! Do you think it’s too late?”

He shakes his head. “No. But we’d better do it tonight. It might not count if we wait until morning.”

She threads her arm through his. “Okay. One more stop before bed then.”

He extinguishes the lamps in the sitting room and leads her through the dark hallways, a fire in one palm. They detour to the study on the first floor and he rummages in the desk to find brushes and ink. When they are finished they make their way out to the courtyard.

The rain has ended, leaving the surface of everything glossy and slick and the air steaming despite the early hour. Once they are out in the open he gestures for her parchment.

She hesitates, clutching the string to her chest. “You aren’t going to read it, are you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not if you don’t want me to. But I have to burn it so that it can reach the spirits.”

She nods and hands it over. Despite his overwhelming curiosity he avoids looking at the characters she has printed and folds it into the palm of his hand along with his own wish. He takes a few steps back and then crouches into a bending stance, steadying his breath.

On a whim he decides to show her the basic ornamental bending that he knows. Just because she had asked earlier, he tells himself. Not because he wanted to impress her or anything.

He shakes his head. Who was he kidding? _Of course_ he wanted to impress her.

He tosses the folded parchment into the air and slides back on one foot, taking aim. He releases a controlled burst of flame from his fist followed by a shredding motion with his hands. He tries to create a star to represent the festival, but it’s been so long since he’s practiced this technique that it comes out all wrong. Only three of the five points materialize, forming an inverted triangle. As the flames curl up toward the stars the top points round out and the effect is something vaguely heart-shaped. Zuko steps back and stares at the puff of smoke left in the air feeling slightly mortified.

But Katara is delighted. She claps her hands in front of her chest and jogs the few steps toward him, pulling him into a hug.

“That was great! I’ve got to figure out a way to do that with waterbending!”

He settles against her and leans his face into her hair. “It wasn’t supposed to… Never mind. I’m glad you liked it.”

She pulls back and her eyes find his. “So, what did you wish for?”

He makes a show of looking offended. “You can’t possibly expect me to tell you that when you wouldn’t let me read yours!”

She laughs and leans in to peck him on his good cheek. “Fair enough. Maybe you can tell me some day if it comes true, at least. Now let’s get some sleep!”

As they climb the stairs he thinks about the wish-burning tradition. It was silly, of course. Just because he wished he could spend more time with Katara after this vacation ended didn’t mean that it would actually happen. He’s never been that lucky, and the spirits have rarely granted his requests in the past. Besides, it was too big of a thing to ask for anyway. All he can do is ensure that he maximizes the time they had together for the next few days. He wonders what Katara wished for and hopes that, despite his own unluckiness, whatever she asked for would come true. With her arm draped around his waist and the prospect of what tomorrow might bring, the legend of the Star Festival itself escapes his awareness and he doesn’t stop to consider the rain.

He escorts her to the guest suite and she kisses him goodnight before closing the door, leaving him to walk contentedly back to his own room. When he flops down onto his own bed he is sure that he can hear the twitter of birds outside his window and can detect the first light of dawn in his blood. He closes his eyes anyway, settling comfortably under his blankets. He reviews the events of the day and smiles to himself.

It was decided: Uncle Iroh was getting a whole crate of tea.

* * *

 

It is dark before he trudges up the road to his family’s home, and his robes are saturated with rain. Those clouds turned out to be something after all. The staff is frantic when he opens the door, supplying him with towels and a hot cup of tea and voices full of concern. He shrugs them off, hems dripping across the polished wooden floors as he heads for the back of the house.

The wind howls and fat drops of rain pelt his face as he makes his way across the courtyard, climbs the slick stairs. When he reaches the trees he encounters an eerie relief from the storm; the foliage is thick enough to block out the worst of it though the shuddering leaves above do nothing to conceal the power of the wind. He lights a small fire in the palm of one hand and follows the path.

The fire casts a warm glow on the clearing. Though it has been sheltered from the majority of the rain, the wind has shaken the limbs of the nearby cherry trees and coated the ground with red and pink petals. Lightning flashes overhead, sparking his memory: her kiss, her skirt as it spun about her ankles on the dance floor, her laughter and fear and stubbornness. And her eyes. Always her eyes.

He kneels down and wipes away the few petals that have fallen onto the stone and gathers some nearby stray ones, ringing her in crimson. The moisture on his face when he finishes has nothing to do with the storm.

“You were always beautiful in red.”


	5. Unrequited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the Zutara Week 2014 prompt "Unrequited"

Zuko doesn't really care for weddings, especially in his own country. It's not the socializing or the politicking; he’s used to those and he’s become adept at them over the years. It's certainly not the food, which often rivals the cuisine provided by his own chef. It’s not even the formal dress requirement, even though these days he prefers more casual attire.

It's the Sages.

The Fire Sages are known to wax poetic for much longer than necessary about the virtues of marriage and the sacred vows taken between partners. They torture those in attendance with lengthy lectures about the importance of honor and the duties of love. Sacred texts are quoted and historical context is reviewed. It is tedious and redundant and no one is immune to the sleepy-eyed boredom it induces.

His own nuptials were even worse. Common ceremonies are known to be daunting, but royal weddings demand the royal treatment. Guests were treated not only to the traditional rites, but also a rambling monologue from the aging Grand Sage about the responsibilities of the monarchy and not-so-subtle hints about the blessings bestowed on large families. People in attendance at his wedding may have marveled at the opulence of it and gossiped for weeks about the beauty of the bride's robes, but any enjoyment they experienced could be attributed solely to the reception afterward. The ceremony itself involved a lot of fidgeting and elbow-nudges.

Today he is spared the extra formalities, because this wedding is not for royalty or nobility. It is for the granddaughter of his head attendant at the Ember Island beach house, the place he has called home since his retirement. As Fire Lord, he would rarely have had the time to attend such an event, nor would it have been proper for a staff member to extend him an invitation. But he isn't the Fire Lord anymore, and now he is free to dictate his own schedule.

He shifts subtly in his seat and thanks Agni that the Sages are finally winding down. The people around him also detect the end of the pontification, sitting a little straighter and refocusing their attention to the front of the temple where the bride and groom stand. This was everyone's favorite part. Guests smile with moist eyes and wistful expressions as the couple recites their vows and seal their promises with a kiss. No one is smiling more broadly than the bride as the couple exits the temple amidst cheers and applause, except perhaps her proud grandfather. For an instant Zuko is reminded of Uncle Iroh, and his heart squeezes.

The wedding party and the attendees shuffle out of the temple and make their way to the reception, an outdoor venue on the north side of the island with jutting cliffs that overlook the crashing sea. The bride was lucky: the weather in autumn can be temperamental and an outdoor event can be a risk, but the day is mild and clear. When he arrives he can see that tables have been set up for guests and bright paper lanterns dance on lengths of twine that ring the area. The deciduous trees are a decoration themselves; their leaves have transformed into bright crimson and gold, and from their branches hang one thousand and one colorful paper cranes. Small bunches of red and yellow fire lilies bound with white ribbon are scattered across the tablecloths. It was a beautiful setting indeed.

The food that is served is traditional and good, and the heat from the spices chases away the slight chill from the sea breeze. He sits at a table with family members of the bride, which Zuko assumes is an act of good faith on the part of his attendant; he is unacquainted with the other guests and he would guess this was his way of making Zuko feel more comfortable. The family is warm and welcoming and they thank him for his attendance as well as his generous wedding gift. After the meal there is dancing, and he can feel the joy that radiates from the bride as she spins around her husband. The mood is joyous and carefree. While some dance, other party goers mingle and a few approach him and introduce themselves. He receives them all graciously. However, despite their kindness, he still has the feeling of an outsider.

This was true at his own wedding as well. With a few notable exceptions, his reception had been populated by politicians and members of important families, strangers vying for seats closest to the royal couple. They were polite and respectful, but he knew they dared to approach him not because they were interested in who he was but for the favors he might grant or the stories their might tell to their friends in the following weeks about their brush with royalty. It was a palpable, lonely distance, one that he was accustomed to but hated nevertheless.

As the afternoon wears on Zuko can feel his energy wane along with the daylight. It had been a pleasant day overall despite the droning Sages, but now he supposed it was time to retire and let the family and friends of the couple enjoy themselves. He signals his driver to bring around the Satomobile to take him home. While he waits he seeks out his attendant once more to give his congratulations.

The man looks pleasantly worn and radiates a tired kind of satisfaction. The man is usually so polished and professional that it is a welcome change to see him comfortable and smiling. He thanks Zuko again for his attendance, bowing deeply. As he does, something falls to the ground between them.

Zuko stoops to pick it up. It is a single yellow lily that had come loose from where it had been pinned to the man’s chest. Though likely resplendent this morning, the activities of the day have taken their toll and the petals droop sadly. The sight of it collapses his mood.

He forces one final smile and hastens to where his driver is waiting.

* * *

 

_Autumn – three years post war_

The missives and scrolls and requests for an audience with the Fire Lord are piled high upon Zuko’s desk when he returns to the capitol, despite his Uncle’s best efforts to manage them. After only a week as regent, Iroh looks depleted and worn. Zuko almost feels guilty for leaving him to deal with all of this, until he remembers that this was all Uncle’s idea in the first place.

Their time together is brief; Uncle is itching to get away from the politicians and back to the Jasmine Dragon. Zuko can’t really blame him. Most of their interactions are focused on getting Zuko back up to speed on what he has missed. There is a suspicious lack of meddling and pestering, and Zuko almost starts to believe that he misjudged his Uncle after all; perhaps all of the others _were_ invited to spend the week on Ember Island but were just too busy to come. He starts to think that perhaps he had finally found some luck and it was just fate that he and Katara were the only ones there. And then Uncle requests to have tea with him on the morning of his departure.

It starts off well enough. Both men are comfortable with silence and have little need for small talk. So when Uncle shifts in his seat and clears his throat Zuko can practically _feel_ the direction that the conversation will take.

“So, nephew… did you enjoy your vacation?”

Memories of Katara’s smile as he recounted Fire Nation legends and the sound of her laugh as he spun her on the dance floor flash in his mind. Zuko does his best to keep his face neutral and sips his tea. “You could say that.”

The seconds crawl by and he knows that Uncle is waiting for an elaboration. He keeps his silence. Uncle tries again. “Well that is good to hear. Did you happen to go down to the shores? Spend any time with the _water_?” His voice is innocent, but the stress on the last word makes him obvious.

Different memories bubble to the surface of his mind, ones that feature the sand at his back and long brown hair curtained around him, her face highlighted by starlight. He shifts in his seat. “What are you implying, Uncle?”

The lines around his Uncle’s mouth twitch and it is clear he is fighting to keep a straight face. “Only that water can be very soothing. I do hope you maximized your time at the beach house and spent some time with the other elements.”

Zuko gives him a pointed look. “It’s funny you should say that. Fire and water were present in abundance, but there was a curious lack of the other elements.”

Uncle examines his cup casually. “Oh? That’s a shame. But fire and water can provide such a lovely balance to each other even without all the rest, don’t you think?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to call him out. But despite it all, he can’t bring himself to be upset. Quite the contrary; Uncle gave him an extraordinary gift by insisting that he go on that trip, and no matter what happened in the future he would always be grateful to him for allowing him the opportunity to deepen his relationship with Katara. However, that didn’t mean he was obligated to share any of the details. His revenge for being tricked would come in the form of silence on the subject.

Even still, it had to be said. He sighs. “I agree. And you were right; a vacation was just what I needed.”

Iroh’s smile is genuine. “You deserved it. You have been working hard these past three years.” He leans forward, supporting his elbows on his knees. “As Fire Lord, you must remember that balance is key. This is true not only with the elements but also in your personal life. You carry a heavy burden, and you must learn to set it aside from time to time and rest.”

Zuko nods. “I will try to remember that.”

Uncle’s smile turns playful and he winks. “That, or you must find someone to help you carry it…”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “And I’m sure you have just the person in mind to fill that role.”

His Uncle feigns shock. “Who, me? I would never presume such a thing.”

Zuko keeps his voice stern but his eyes smile. “You aren’t fooling anyone, _General_.”

Iroh waves him off. “I retired that title long ago. Now I am simply a humble tea merchant.”

“A tea merchant with renowned tactical skills.”

“Nonsense. The only thing I need strategy for these days is the pai sho board.” His Uncle finishes his tea and sets down his cup before standing. “I would challenge you to a game, but I am afraid my airship is due to depart within the hour. Do you have any plans to visit Ba Sing Se in the future?”

Zuko stands to see him off. “In the spring. The annual summit will require my presence.”

“Splendid. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

Iroh reaches out and pulls him in, capturing him in a tight embrace. He is solid and strong and Zuko leans into him, all pretenses falling away. “Thank you, Uncle. For everything.”

Iroh’s arms tighten around him, the strength of a warrior still evident under all the fancy robes. “You have accomplished so much. I am proud of you, my son.” Zuko’s heart cinches. Iroh pulls back and his hands find Zuko’s shoulders. “Regardless of what the future holds, do not let your burdens weigh too heavily. Remember, a man needs his rest.”

“I know, Uncle. Travel safely, and send a hawk when you arrive.”

And with that, Zuko is alone in the palace once again.

It feels different than before he left; he throws himself into his work with renewed vigor and faces each day feeling refreshed and hopeful. In particular, he always looks forward to the evenings when his attendant provides him with his schedule for the next day and delivers the Fire Lord’s personal correspondence. Weeks pass without any word from the Water Tribes, but it doesn’t dim his hope. He does, however, receive a letter from Ba Sing Se: a note of gratitude from his Uncle for the crate of ginseng that he found upon his return to the tea shop.

Summer gives way to autumn in a blur of meetings with council members and ministers and perpetual stacks of paperwork. As time passes his thoughts are consumed more by the price of rice and the protests of colonists and less by blue eyes and stormy seas. Most of Zuko’s days are scheduled tightly but predictably. He can expect to train in the mornings, review the day’s schedule with his head attendant over breakfast, hold court for supplicants until noon, receive briefings about his afternoon meetings during lunch, and meet with various advisors and council members until evening. His dinners are typically delivered to his office, where he spends a few hours in blissful silence as he reviews decrees and proposals. The hour before bed is his own to do with as he pleases. Sometimes, in the evenings when he is alone in the gardens of the royal apartments, he practices ornamental firebending forms for an audience of turtle ducks. While they are unimpressed, he knows of at least one person who might appreciate them. Afterward he prepares for bed only to wake at dawn to begin the cycle anew.

It is monotonous at times, but the predictability is something that he depends on. Planning for the long-term and thinking things through were not skills that he valued in his adolescence, but as an adult tasked with running a nation they are a necessity. As such, abrupt changes to his schedule or deviations from his routine are typically met with irritation.

The ceremonial aspects of his position are of particular annoyance for just that reason. When the need arises, his schedule is interrupted so that he can leave the palace for a morning or an afternoon to dedicate a memorial, or attend the public celebration of the appointment of a new governor, or lend his influence at any number of political conferences or events. It isn’t that he doesn’t like to leave the palace or offer his support; the problem is that it has a ripple effect that can last for days, leaving him feeling as though he will never catch up.

Which was why his mood is foul the afternoon he boards an airship to Shu Jing, a small village located on one of the neighboring islands. It doesn’t help that the day had already gotten off to a poor start: his sparring partner had been ill so he had been forced to train alone, he had spilled tea down the front of his robes at breakfast, and then the morning’s supplicants had laid particularly challenging dilemmas at his feet. He was supposed to meet with his minister of finance to finalize the budget for next quarter, but now that will have to wait. Instead, he is forced to travel to some random function when there is real work to be done.

As he settles in for the flight his attendant briefs him on the event this afternoon, summarizing the purpose and providing the names of key members of high society that will be in attendance. Zuko is barely listening. A dull pain has taken up residence behind his eyes; he pinches the bridge of his nose. Zuko dismisses his attendant as soon as they are in the air and shuts the door to his cabin. He seats himself at a nearby desk and props his chin on one hand while his bleary eyes try to focus on the speech prepared for him by his steward.

The airship lands with a shudder, jolting him awake. He feels groggy and stiff, the gossamer threads of a dream still clinging to his memory. He tries to place the elements of the dream, but all that remains are fragments of blue fading to red, the flash of silken fabric, the scent of tea and spices, and a pervasive sense of loneliness. His attendants usher him off the airship and into a waiting palanquin, their voices apologetic as they explain that the winds were against them and they are running slightly behind schedule. He feels unbalanced as the palanquin is spirited toward a sprawling complex perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. He can hear the distant cry of gulls overhead, and the loneliness doubles as he remembers recent afternoons spent on the shore of the beach house. He wills those memories away and digs in his sleeve for the speech he is to give, but before he can read it the palanquin slows to a stop.

Staff members are waiting for him at the gates. They greet him and inform him that the dedication ceremony is already underway. They lead him through groomed garden pathways, past reflective ponds and stone benches that hide in the cozy shade of freshly planted cherry trees. He can hear a speech in progress as they approach a large pavilion from the back. A temporary stage has been erected and the banners that serve as a backdrop keep him from seeing the size of the audience or the identity of the speaker. The staff quietly leads him to the back of the stage where a few other speakers are waiting their turn. Zuko recognizes none of them but they recognize him and bow deeply at the waist in acknowledgement.

There is the sound of applause and the creak of wood as the man on stage exits. His posture is rigid and his steps measured as he descends the wooden stairs and turns toward the back of the stage. Zuko recognizes him immediately and tries to keep the surprise off of his face as the man bows and addresses him.

“Fire Lord Zuko. We are honored by your presence and are deeply appreciative of your support in this venture.”

Zuko bows in response, though not as deeply. “Master Piandao. It is a pleasure as always.”

The swordmaster folds his hands into his sleeves. “Indeed. I hope after the event I can enjoy the pleasure of your company over a cup of tea. Or give you a tour of the grounds, perhaps. However, right now, our patrons are eager to hear from you.”

Sure enough, he can hear another man introducing him, followed by applause. He quickly straightens his crown and pulls the speech from his sleeve. As Zuko strides toward the stage, he catches Piandao giving him a strange little smile, the same one his Uncle would give him sometimes when he was up to no good. Zuko decides that mastery of this infuriating look must be part of the initiation into the White Lotus Society.

The applause continues as Zuko mounts the stairs and tapers off as he takes the podium. He spreads his speech out in front of him and takes a moment to survey the crowd. From the colors alone he can tell that this is an internationally supported venture, whatever it is. Red and green are equally represented in the robes of the patrons fanning themselves in the mild autumn afternoon, and sprinkled among them are even shades of blue. They all watch him expectantly.

Standing there, the frazzled feelings of the morning and the grogginess from his nap disappear. As he meets their eyes he feels calm and in control. He has never felt uncomfortable addressing large crowds; it doesn’t occur to him to be nervous. He does wish, however, that he was more prepared. He curses his involuntary nap on the airship, even if it had managed to cure his headache. He clears his throat and lowers his eyes to the parchment. He is about to begin when a flash of light attracts his attention from the front row.

It came from the left. His eyes track it to a woman in rich navy robes. The Fire Nation pin at her shoulder catches the sun and glints again. Above it, blue eyes smile.

For an instant he forgets where he is. _She_ was _here._ In the Fire Nation. No more than thirty feet away. Only a few paces separate them and his first impulse is to step off the stage and close that distance. He had convinced himself over the weeks that his interest in Katara was casual; his feelings might have been intense during their time together, but they were fragile and new and easily set aside. When he remembered the wish he had sent to the spirits in a wisp of smoke he felt silly and young and dismissed his actions as the folly of circumstance. Looking at her now is a punch to the gut. The hammering of his heart is anything but casual.

Someone coughs and he remembers himself and the crowd that is patiently waiting for him to speak. His lips twitch into the smallest of smiles before redirecting his attention to the task at hand.

Despite his lack of preparation and the shock of her presence, the speech he gives is eloquent and flawless. All credit goes to his speech writers, really. They know he isn’t always granted the luxury of reading and practicing every speech set in front of him, so they include notations that inform him of which words to stress or when to pause for effect. While the audience is attentive and applauds his efforts, he finds that he has little memory of anything he just said. The speech is a disembodied thing; he can hear himself speaking but his mind is a thousand miles away, wondering what she is doing here and why she had not bothered to mention that she would be visiting his country.

After he leaves the stage he rereads the parchment and it starts to make a little more sense. This is to be a place of holistic healing, an institution dedicated to the rehabilitation of war veterans of all nations. It will provide a place of rest and comfort to those who had been affected physically and mentally from the ravages of war and offer a sense of peace. A wonderful idea, truly, but not one that is officially nor financially sponsored by the Fire Nation government, and therefore not something his ministers would typically allow to burden his schedule. Glancing around the gardens, he now notices details he had missed before in his haste: lotus engravings on the benches and wrought iron lotuses decorating the peripheral gates. He smells another setup, but this time he is glad for it.

The speeches conclude, encouraging patrons to give generously to this most worthy cause and inviting guests to explore the grounds and enjoy refreshments. Though socialites are already beginning to swarm around him, his eyes automatically seek out the color of her robes. She has the attention of a small group of serious looking people who seem to hang on her every word. A few are even taking notes. He can tell by her enthusiastic hand gestures that she is passionate about the subject matter. She catches his eyes from across the grounds now and then as he makes small talk with various attendees, but she doesn’t actually approach him until he is almost ready to depart for the capitol.

Her bow is formal, but her eyes spark. “Fancy meeting you here, Fire Lord Zuko.”

His bow is appropriately shallow but sincere. “I could say the same to you, Master Katara. Another sneak attack?”

“Those don’t count and you know it.” She straightens and smiles. “Walk with me?”

He offers his arm and they stroll along one of the paths that wind through the gardens. The crowd thins and eventually disappears, leaving them to talk in private.

“That was a nice speech, by the way. Though you looked a little lost there for a minute. Did my presence ruffle your royal feathers?”

“Not a chance.” He turns his head and feigns interest in the scenery, hoping to hide his blush. “Though you could have warned me you’d be here.”

“I didn’t know you would be here, so I didn’t think a warning would be necessary. I wasn’t trying to be sneaky this time, honest.”

“But you knew _you_ would be here. You could have told me you’d be visiting the Fire Nation.”

She stops to examine the cherry blossoms on a low hanging branch, fingers tracing over delicate pale petals. “It’s not really a visit, more like a business trip. Master Piandao contacted me to see if I would be willing to spend a few weeks with the physicians here before the clinic officially opens to pass on some of the advanced healing techniques I’ve learned. He’s employing healers from all nations, including waterbenders. The hope is that we can all learn something from each other.” She shrugs. “Besides, you’re a busy man. I didn’t think you would have time to spare for such a small, private venture.”

“If you had told me that you’d be here, I would have made time,” he says carefully.

It is her turn to blush. “Is that so? Well I’m glad it worked out this way. One of the doctor’s assistants told me that the banquet tonight will be amazing.” Her eyes find his. “Maybe we’ll have time to catch up afterward.”

Zuko might have missed certain subtleties when he was younger, but years of dealing with politicians have made him a little savvier. His mind spins with the possibilities as she studies him, waiting for an answer. But then he remembers and his shoulders slump. “Actually, I have to be heading back. My secretaries would revolt if they had to try to rearrange my schedule two days in a row. Not to mention my council members.”

She nods. “I understand.” Disappointment weighs down her features, but then she brightens. “Well, I’m sure it won’t be long before I’m back in the Fire Nation. The staff here has already hinted that they would like me to come back in a few months for a consultation. Maybe then I could take some extra time to come visit you.”

A feeling in his gut tells him that he can’t let this opportunity slip away. “Or maybe you could come to the capitol on your way home,” he blurts. She looks at him curiously. He forges ahead. “I mean, it _is_ on the way. And there are plenty of places in the city that you didn’t get to see the last time you were there. It really is quite charming when it’s not ruled by a megalomaniacal dictator.”

She fiddles with the flowers again, avoiding eye contact. But the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth gives her away. “I couldn’t. You’ve got so much to do, you don’t have time to be showing me around, charming atmosphere or otherwise.” He can see that she wants to acquiesce. She just needs a little more convincing.

“Katara, you’re a war hero and daughter of the chief of the Southern Water Tribe. That makes you a dignitary. And part of my job is to cater to the whims of dignitaries.” He doesn’t mention that under any other circumstance this is the part of the job that he loathes most of all. “All in the interest of good foreign relations, you know.”

He can see her indecision melt away. “I see. Well, as Fire Lord, could you recommend any affordable accommodations? This dignitary operates on a peasant’s budget.”

He laughs. “Don’t’ be ridiculous. You’ll stay with me.” He is met with silence. His mind catches up to his mouth and it is Ember Island all over again. He struggles to backtrack. “At the palace, I mean. In the guest wing. That’s where all visiting dignitaries stay. You _do_ remember the guest wing, don’t you?”

Her face clouds. “Not the same room I healed you in when –“

“No. Not there.”

The storm in her eyes passes. “Okay.” She looks at him sincerely. “Seriously, Zuko, are you sure it wouldn’t be an imposition? I don’t want to be a burden.”

He takes her hand. “It would be an honor to have you.”

She smiles and squeezes his fingers gently. “You shouldn’t joke about that. I’ve heard Fire Nation citizens take their honor very seriously.”

“Indeed.” He reluctantly lets go of her hand and offers his arm once more, leading them back the way they came. The rest of the party comes into view. “Well? When can I expect you?”

She laughs. “You never give up, do you?”

“Not without a fight.”

“Alright, let me think about it at least. I’ll send a hawk in a few weeks when I’m finishing up here.”

“You won’t regret it.” The youth in his voice surprises him; he is reminded of his excitement standing on the broken stone terrace of an ancient air temple, thinking that his destiny was finally upon him.

She bumps her shoulder against his. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, your majesty. I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

He just smiles in response. He looks toward the entrance of the clinic and sees his palanquin waiting. He lets her go and turns to face her. “I have to be going. See you in a couple weeks?”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ll see. Have a safe trip, Zuko.” He can tell that she wants to hug him, but she refrains – it is too public, there are too many eyes. She bows instead.

He returns the gesture. “Same to you.”

A hawk arrives less than a week later. She is coming.

Each day feels too long as he waits for her to appear, and each day he is filled with a creeping sense of dread that perhaps she will change her mind and a letter will arrive instead of a ship, telling him how this was all just a mistake, a silly summer fling. That it could never last, that it shouldn’t even be pursued. These worries spiral until he realizes that he is getting way ahead of himself; she is coming to spend a week at the palace, nothing more. It isn’t a big deal.

Except that it is. When he sees her disembark from the ship two weeks later his face is impassive but his heart soars. He greets her with a shallow bow and tries not to grin stupidly when she takes his arm as they make their way to a waiting palanquin.

It’s all very proper of course. She settles into a room in the wing designed to house guests as promised. Though he has assigned some of his best and most trustworthy attendants to show her the sights while he works during the day, she insists on spending her days working as well: she tours the local clinics and provides instruction on healing to those that are interested. It is no secret that she is here, and it takes little time for his council members to puzzle out who she is and who they think she is to their Fire Lord. If his council members have any suspicions or concerns, they do not voice them.

And he is listening very, very closely.

Which is why he is careful. In the time between their meeting and her arrival, he had time to think through the implications of his invitation. He knows that there are eyes and ears everywhere in the palace and the walls beyond. He knows that no matter how his fingers itch to touch hers as they stroll through the shops along the harbor, or how much he wishes to sit just a little closer as they take their meals, he refrains. He contents himself with stealing kisses from her by the turtleduck pond and running his fingers through the ends of her hair as he bids her good night. Perhaps someday things would be different, but for now he takes things slowly, doing his best to keep her from being opened up to scrutiny. For now, he is prudent.

Until one night she challenges him to a game of pai sho. An adult version.

She sets it up like a drinking game. For every tile captured, the player must take a drink. At first he balks, thinking his Uncle would be appalled that he would even consider it. Then he realizes that his Uncle probably just never filled him in on this version of the rules, thinking him too prudish to ever want to participate in such a thing. Well, he would show them both. He could be fun. And he could _win._

Not that he was very good at the game, or that he even liked it that much. He had spent long days on the deck of his ship with Uncle trying to wrap his mind around strategy and defense, all while Uncle soundly defeated him each time. But Iroh was a master; what could he possibly have to worry about when playing against Katara? What could she really know about the game?

It might have been more romantic to set up the game on the lawn of the royal gardens, at the base of the stone bridge that spanned the turtleduck pond. But the rainy season had announced its arrival with a steady thunderless downpour that blocked out the stars and left everything damp. Instead, they set up the board and the bottle of rice wine on the covered lanai, playing by torchlight and surrounded by the steady patter of water on the roof and cobblestones.

It starts off well enough. His offense is solid and she seems to be falling into the traps he sets. A smug smile works its way onto his face as he captures another of her tiles, but it falters a little when she keeps her eyes trained on his as she slowly sips her wine. That look is all too familiar – it normally appeared right before she was about to pummel him in a sparring match. He has underestimated her. Again.

By his second glass of wine, he feels the heat settling in his gut, warm and tingling. By his third, he is watching Katara more than the tiles on the board, entranced by the flush of her cheeks and the way the firelight reflects in her eyes. This lack of concentration costs him, but by his fourth he is not even interested in winning anymore. He slides closer to the woman across from him, unable and unwilling to resist the urge to taste the pulse at her throat. She responds instantly, and the game is quickly forgotten.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hall – _forgot about the night patrol, didn’t you Zuzu_ \- sobers him enough to realize that she is suspended above him, hair askew and robes pushed open to expose her bindings. She sits up and the look on her face mirrors his own: they need a change of location. _Now._ He swipes his crown and his tunic from their position a few feet away – _how did those get there?_ – and pulls Katara to her feet.

He has many memories, fleeting and breathless, from the first night they spent together. He can remember the hum of anticipation in his blood, the kind that kept him choking down giddy bubbles of laughter as they snuck down the halls of the palace, fingers laced - a different kind of sneaky secret mission that didn’t involve black clothes but that required stealth all the same. He can remember hushing her with a smile as she almost tripped when they skidded to a stop in front of his door. He can remember the flurry of hands; the taste of wine on her lips; the feel of silk against his back as she gently pushed him back. He can remember the sinking, falling sensation as she rose to meet him again and again and the sound of his name on her lips, a ghostly tattoo as it whispered across moist skin. But what he remembers most is the aftermath: the exquisite combination of her dark skin against his red sheets, her soft limbs tangled in smooth fabric, her hair fanned out beneath her as hazy blue eyes blinked contentedly at the canopy above, her breath like the push and pull of a shuddering sea in the wake of a storm.

For a long while, neither speaks. Mocha fingers absentmindedly trace the lines in his palm before briefly twining with his, squeezing once before letting go. He watches her stretch and slide across the expanse of the bed, the cords in her back flexing smoothly just under the skin as she snatches his discarded tunic from the floor and pulls her arms through the sleeves. It is inside out; he can see the rough edges of the seams. He could not have cared less.

For the first time she has the chance to explore her surroundings. In the brief time that she has been here, he hasn’t invited her into his room and she hasn’t asked. He watches with some unearned sense of pride as she trails her fingers along the sleek shine of the mahogany and looks up into the high vaulted ceilings. The vain, selfish part of him hopes that she is impressed. The other part wants to give it to her. All of it.

Perhaps that is why he looks on without comment or concern as she fiddles with the brushes that lie neatly on his desk, or when she picks up a priceless vase to inspect it. She paces leisurely around the periphery of his room, slowing to a stop in front of a tapestry depicting the islands of the Fire Nation. Her face is unreadable as she studies it, one hand clutched in the red fabric of his tunic at her chest to keep it closed. A pressure builds inside of him as he realizes that he wants her to touch the tapestry like everything else, to disturb the ancient silk threads that no one else has spared a passing glance for decades. He finds that he wants her to leave her mark on everything he owns, to claim it for herself, even if all she leaves behind are mementos as invisible and ephemeral as fingerprints. It’s already hers, if she would only ask it.

But even Zuko knows that this would be an insignificant sacrifice and an even more insignificant offering; in truth Katara has never been impressed by the grandeur of objects and neither has he, though for entirely different reasons. Almost everything in this room was here before he was born, and it would likely be here long after he was dead. It wasn’t the objects he had missed while in exile, or even status or wealth that he longed for as he poured tea in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se. Desperation had convinced him that possessions or power or honor would fill the empty space that yawned open in his chest as he had cleaned dirt from under his fingernails as he and Uncle travelled, but even when he was welcomed back to the palace as the rightful heir the chasm only crumbled at the edges and grew wider. It was home that he yearned for; not a place or an object but a _feeling_ , one that settled in his bones and allowed him to let down his guard, even for a just a moment. With few fleeting exceptions, he hadn’t really felt this since the days before his grandfather had died. Not until now, that is, as he watches this powerful slip of a woman reach out to with impossibly delicate fingers to trace the embroidered edges of the coast, drawing a line along the border between his country and the sea.

It’s not the things at all. It is this _feeling_ that he wants to simultaneously hold on to and give away. It’s the _feeling_ he wants to offer and be offered in return. He wonders if this is what love feels like. He hopes so.

Satisfied with her brief tour, she circles back to the bed and climbs onto one side. He gestures lazily with one wrist, inviting her to come closer. It looks as though she is about to crawl over to him when she notices the last unexplored piece of furniture: a small side table with a single drawer. The easiness he felt melts away as he remembers what’s inside. Some objects are just objects, but others are not. She reaches for the brass handle –

“Stop!”

She gives him a questioning look and he instantly feels ridiculous. “I mean, there’s nothing in there that would interest you.”

Her look is skeptical. “Really. That must be why you’re so protective of it.”

“Like I said. It’s not important. It wouldn’t interest you.”

“Oh, well, if you say so…” she shrugs and he thinks he is safe when suddenly she whirls back on the drawer and pulls it open before he can even react, let alone stop her.

Her fingers curl around the drawer’s single occupant. She holds it up and waves it in the air, eyes shining with mirth. “What’s this?”

He’s on his knees now, scrambling toward her, the sheets tangling around his legs. He flings an arm out to steal the object from her hand, but she yanks it away.

“Give that here!”

She is laughing as she struggles against his reach. “Is this your _diary_ , Fire Lord Zuko? Do you keep all of your dark brooding secrets in here?”

“I don’t keep a diary!” He growls. “Now hand it over!”

He could overpower her, take it by force. He knows this. But he won’t. Her laughter overpowers his strength anyway. He accepts defeat. _After all_ , he rationalizes, _it can’t be any worse than_ Love Amongst the Dragons.

“Fine,” he grumbles, loosening his hold and sitting back. “Just be careful with it.”

In her hands is a simple black leather-bound book, the edges worn and flaking. She gives him a final look, silently asking him permission. He gives a long sigh and a resigned nod in response. The volume flops open in her hands, the binding supple with use. There is the faintest hungry look in her eyes as she flips to a random page, greedily consuming the words, but then her face clouds in confusion. She reads aloud.

_“To know the road ahead, ask those who are returning.“_ She pauses and flips two pages forward. _“When the moon is full it begins to wane.”_ She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Proverbs?”

He knows that his face likely matches the color of his sheets. “Uncle’s.”

She examines the strokes of ink on the page. “But this is your handwriting.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yes. I started writing them down when I was in exile. He seemed to find some comfort in them, so I thought… I don’t know what I thought. Never mind, it’s not important. Just put it back.”

“You catalogued your Uncle’s proverbs for all those years?”

“Sort of. The original was destroyed when those pirates blew up my ship. But I wrote down as many as I could remember when I came back to the palace. They, um, helped when Uncle wasn’t speaking to me.”

She looks bewildered. “Does he know you have this?”

He looks away. “No. And I would prefer to keep it that way.”

She gently closes the book and runs a palm across the cover. “You really love him.”

The way she says it sounds incredulous, as though she is surprised he would stoop to something so sentimental. As though she is surprised he has the depth. He almost takes offense, but when he looks at her he sees her eyes shine with unshed tears.

He slides up behind her and surrounds her with his body, gently taking the book from her hands and placing it back into the drawer. His arms encircle her waist and his chin finds her shoulder.

“Of course I do.” He says it simply, but there is nothing simple about it.

They become more careless after that.

It is easy to forget when he is alone with her that he is the sovereign ruler of a nation, that he has duties and responsibilities that are greater than himself. How can he not, when she’s the only person in a hundred mile radius that dares defy him, or call him by his name, or treat him as an equal? She knows how to act appropriately when they are in public, giving him proper deference and playing the part of the aristocrat, but whether in public or private, she would never kowtow to him. He would never want her to. Those days are exhilarating, like taking large gulps of air after spending years trapped beneath the glassy surface of a lake.

A week turns into two, and weeks turn to months. Though she is officially staying in the guest wing, she doesn’t spend many of her nights there. She sends letters home to check on her waterbending pupils but makes no mention of when she will return. She continues her tours of the local clinics and takes an airship to consult with the physicians at the clinic in Shu Jing every few weeks. He makes no comment when a trunk of her clothing and other personal items is delivered via ship from the South Pole, but he thinks that he has never been happier.

Though the time spent with her is sweet, his work begins to sour. It takes little time before he hears secondhand rumors, and not much longer before the whispers reach his own ears directly. The piles of paperwork on his desk begin to grow as he spends less time in his office and more time in the gardens. Subtle as they are, he is deft enough to catch the disapproving glances of his council when he arrives late to yet another early morning meeting and struggles to keep his bleary eyes open. He silences the voice in his head that tells him that this is not sustainable. He just needs to find the right balance, the right compromise. It can work.

And he tries. They try. But it couldn’t always be like the days on Ember Island where they danced and laughed under the stars. As a child, he used to believe that being the Fire Lord would mean that he got to do whatever he wanted. How naïve he had been. Being the Fire Lord is like being the parent of a million needy children, all with their own wants and needs and demanding voices. And if it isn’t his citizens that need attention, it is those from other nations. His time and energy are pulled in a hundred different directions on any given day, though his thoughts remain locked on blue eyes and smooth skin and the music of her laughter. Even this, he thinks, they can overcome. He just needs to concentrate harder, manage his time more efficiently.

It’s not the slanderous comments, nor the sleepless nights, nor the piles of paperwork, or even his sense of duty that defeats him in the end. It’s something unnamable, something much more insidious as he watches the blue from her wardrobe slowly fade to red, the way she adapts to court life seamlessly and Fire Nation idioms begin to pepper her speech. This should be exactly what he wants, for her to excel at this, for her to belong here. The hints at proposal from his more liberal and trusted advisors grow less subtle by the week. But the transformation is jarring for reasons he cannot explain. Anxiety begins to simmer in his chest as he imagines her losing herself to this place. The palace was grand and beautiful, but the longer one spent there the smaller it seemed. She never says it, never even hints at it, but he can’t help but think that binding Katara to the palace or even the Fire Nation as a whole was like caging a rare and wild creature: you might marvel at its beauty and being near it might bring you pleasure, but trapping it was fundamentally wrong. She might have started out living on one tiny slab of ice, but at her very core Katara was a woman of the world. It wasn’t fair. He was born into this life. She was not.

So he does the only thing he can: he sets her free.

He learned his lesson in the past and tells her all of this in person, not through a letter. He had varied expectations of how this conversation would go; he expected emotion and rage and defiance. He expected to dodge ice darts and the power of her fury. He expected pleading and convincing, and is almost hoping for it: he needs her help to shove the words back down his throat moment he says them just so he can keep her here, keep her _home._ But she surprises him with a silence so cold that even in her crimson robes it has never been so obvious and palpable that she hails from the icy tundra of the south. She listens to what he has to say, gaze unwavering, and when he is finished she walks away. The heavy door of his bedroom slams behind her with finality.

She is gone by the time he finishes with his afternoon meetings. She leaves no note, no evidence in her room to indicate that she was ever there. Only the ghost of her scent lingers. He tries to memorize it before shutting the door softly behind him, knowing how quickly it will fade.

He hopes that she will contact him; he digs through the scrolls he receives every day with the hope of finding one with a blue ribbon but he is always disappointed. He feels he has no right to reach out to her after this, so he simply waits. After two weeks he begins to worry. Where was she now? Was she safe? After one month he begins to get angry. After two he despairs.

In the stillness of his bedroom, he recalls the nights that they spent together, particularly the first. He can picture the circuit she made around the room and the way that his tunic slipped off of one bare shoulder, the hem whispering against the length of her thighs. He remembers her dispassionate response to the expensive and rare objects around her, save one: the simple leather-bound journal. In frustration, he pulls it out. He could use his Uncle’s wisdom right now.

The book opens at a random page, and he reads:

_A wise man makes his own decisions; an ignorant man follows public opinion._

Not helping. He reads another.

_You never know your friends from your enemies until the ice breaks._

Even worse. He flips to the back, hoping to find just one piece of advice, something to assure him that he did the right thing.

Instead, he is confronted with writing that is not his own. The characters on the page are careful and elegant, though the stray spots of ink and uneven lines betray the emotion of the hand that wrote them. In her handwriting he finds her addition to his book, the black strokes blaring against the white of the page:

_A charred stake easily catches fire._

He hangs his head. He doesn’t have to be a genius to understand her meaning: he has burned her yet again, for the last time, perhaps. He takes this as a clear warning to stay away.

The mountains of paperwork on his desk erode and vanish. His council members hide their surprise the first time they find him already waiting for them upon their arrival and perhaps regret complaining about his previous lack of focus. Trade agreements with the east and the price of rice and the rising cost of education have his full attention, and his decisions in these matters are firm and unyielding. It is only when he is alone that he allows himself to wonder where she might be, or how much she hates him. And though she may appear in his dreams, she never materializes at the palace.

Months later, his Uncle visits the capitol. Over tea, Zuko casually asks him about the shakily written proverb in the book.

Iroh’s brow furrows and his expression is guarded. “What is this in reference to, my nephew?”

For a number of reasons Zuko refuses to provide full context. He says only what he can. “It was a message from Katara. From the day she left the palace.”

Something like understanding lights behind the old man’s eyes, but he still doesn’t answer the original question. “You have never been forthcoming about the details of that day. Why did she leave, exactly?”

Zuko’s eyes trace the elaborate patterns in the carpet at his feet. “Because I could have never asked her to stay.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Zuko sits back in his chair, runs a hand through his hair. “She would have been unhappy here.”

“Did she seem unhappy? Did she say so?”

“No.” His Uncle maintains a neutral, steady gaze. He wants an explanation. Zuko squirms in his seat. “I just… I couldn’t let her sacrifice herself that way. Not for me. It wouldn’t have been right.”

Iroh sits back and sighs, turning his tea cup in his hands. He stares off at the far wall of the room. “When considered as my own, lightly weighs the snow on my bamboo hat.”

Zuko frowns. “More riddles aren’t going to help me right now, Uncle.”

“It’s not a riddle, it’s a haiku.” He sips his tea. “Voluntary burdens are not a burden. What you saw as self-sacrifice may have been something else entirely.”

If Zuko were a waterbender, his tea would have frozen in his cup along with the blood in his veins. If that were true, he had done her a great disrespect. In trying to protect her, he had inadvertently rejected and denounced her efforts. Those changes hadn’t been for _him_ , they had been for _them_ , as well as for her. She wasn’t adapting because of expectations or social pressures, she was doing it because it was what she wanted. None of those surface differences changed who she was. Worse still, he should have known better: her values ran deep, and nothing would compromise them. She was kind and compassionate, but she was also a warrior; she did not kowtow and she did not sit quietly and behave. It was what he loved about her most, her passion and her fearlessness. He was so afraid that the Fire Nation would snuff out that spark that he didn’t trust her to stay strong in the face of formidable odds.

Katara, the woman who years ago had offered compassion to her enemies, just because it was right. The woman who stubbornly maintained hope when there was none to be found. The woman who had threatened him and forgiven him with equal fierceness, who had defeated his sister and saved his life. The woman who could _still_ overpower him, both with the strength of her bending and the curve of her smile.

As if the Fire Nation even stood a chance against her.

Shame and disgust overwhelms him. He has made a huge mistake.

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m an idiot. No wonder she hates me now. _Again_.”

“Perhaps not.”

Zuko looks at his Uncle, trying to douse the bright ember of hope that flares in his chest. “What?”

“That proverb she left. She may not have been referring to past grudges. Perhaps she was instead referring to the ease of rekindling other types of feelings. It may have been a warning, but it also could be interpreted as an invitation.” His Uncle gives him a pointed look.

He really _was_ an idiot.

He spends days penning the proper apology, trying to convey his foolishness and her greatness in equal measure. The waste bin in his office overflows with crumpled parchment and imprecise words. He spends a week reading and rereading the finished product, telling himself that he wants to make sure it is perfect and unwilling to admit that he is stalling. He spends the next month carving a necklace while he waits for her reply.

In the end, he waits too long. By the time she receives his message a different necklace hugs her throat. The response he receives is not a response at all. It is a wedding invitation.

He attends the ceremony six months later. Having his childhood sweetheart with him makes it easier, at least by degrees. Mai has made a good many things easier for him in recent weeks. He’s dared to be happy again, in his own cautious way. Still, since he received that hawk he hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that he is living in a fog. It has been like watching a sunset while facing the east; the reflected colors are a mockery of the original and he can see the light gradually fade, all the while knowing that something incredible is happening behind him. If only he could turn around.

He watches the vows and rituals impassively. Her wedding robes are maddening in their simplicity, in shades of blue and white and gray. If he looks carefully he can detect the more complicated patterns of water and air that hover at her ankles in light colored thread on her skirts. Around her head and looking ridiculously out of place is a ring of bright yellow and orange flowers.

The assembled crowd cheers when they seal their promises to one another with a kiss, and he forces himself to smile and clap. He can only hope that the Avatar will respect and love her for exactly who she is, every maddening, compassionate, fierce, wonderful part of her. She deserves no less.

She and her new husband approach them at the reception and the four exchange warm but shallow greetings. An unrecognizable pendant hangs heavy at the notch of her collarbone, the curves of a breeze bolstered by lemon-colored silk. The weight of the last letter he sent hangs oppressively between them, pulling on the corners of his mouth and his mood as he hugs her briefly in congratulations. He hates himself for the small triumph of noticing that the flowers in her hair have already begun to wilt, the edges of the petals shriveling and curling inward.

Aang and Katara don’t linger long; they have other guests that deserve their attention. But before they move along Katara surprises him with one last hug which lasts a heartbeat too long to be considered proper. He takes the opportunity to whisper in her hair.

When he tells her he wishes her happiness he means it. When he tells her she looks beautiful it is a lie.

* * *

 

It is dark by the time Zuko returns home. He feels unsettled, but he tries to proceed with his usual evening routine. The evening proves to be too cold to sit comfortably on the lanai, so he opts to take his tea and scrolls to the sitting room. He selected the most innocuous and boring scroll he could think of in an attempt to distract himself from the emptiness that had been expanding beneath his ribs since he left the reception. For a little while it works, but soon enough he finds himself reading the same sentence three times without comprehending its meaning. Instead, his thoughts keep drifting back to the flower in his attendant’s lapel and the bride’s contented smile.

Before he realizes it he has set down the scroll and his feet are guiding him to the back of the house. He shrugs on a thin coat and toes on his slippers before heading outside.

The falling temperatures have transformed the leaves beyond the courtyard to gold and have left gaping holes in the normally thick canopy above. The wind easily cuts through his coat and he shivers as he follows the shallow stream. Fallen leaves crunch under his feet as he approaches, and when he reaches the clearing he sees that they have blanketed her stone. With distaste curling his lip he sends a controlled blast of flame at the leaves, scattering some and burning others. They blacken and crumble, leaving only ash that swirls in the cold wind. He kneels and wipes the remnants away with reverent fingers.

“I never cared for you in yellow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Treycain03 made a stunning piece of fanart for this chapter! Be sure to check it out, you'll be glad that you did!  
> http://treycain03.tumblr.com/post/148696615820/she-and-her-new-husband-approach-them-at-the


	6. Cobalt Blue / Vigil - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final arc of this fic is brought to you by the Zutara Week 2014 prompt "cobalt blue" and the 2015 prompt "vigil." 
> 
> A word of caution: this story is canon-compliant(ish) so as you might have guessed from the previous chapter, there are canon pairings. Just thought I would give you a heads up in case you have an aversion to them like I do. But never fear! Plenty of Z/K goodness.

The Fire Nation has its share of festivals, and as a tourist hotspot, Ember Island never fails to celebrate each and every one with style. Even the most obscure event is carefully and extravagantly honored, to the delight of citizens and visitors alike. There are so many that it seems like not a week goes by without some reason to clutter the streets with merchant’s booths or litter the sidewalk with confetti. Zuko wonders sometimes if the people in attendance even know what they are celebrating, or if they just need an excuse to laugh and dance in the streets. He suspects the latter. He’s been around the world on a few occasions at this point, and he can say without a doubt that the citizens of Ember Island are some of the most joyful and carefree on earth.

For someone who actively resists happiness, he wonders how he came to retire here.

That’s a lie. He knows exactly why he chose this place.

It’s not like he’s entirely immune to the island’s spell. Throughout the year he makes his way to town to observe the revelry, and he has even been known to actively participate in a festival or two. This time of year is different, though. Most winter holidays leave a poor taste in Zuko’s mouth. Not because he dislikes the festivals themselves, but because the season tends to set his teeth on edge. During the winter months he tends to keep to the beach house more often than not, ignoring the celebrations going on around him.

This week in particular. He’s been avoiding town since the winter solstice, preparing for the days ahead. Whether he likes it or not, the day has finally arrived.

Tonight is New Year’s Eve.

It’s actually an anomaly for Ember Island. Tonight the most popular destination will not be the town square or the bustling marketplace, but the Fire Temple on the other side of the island. Businesses will be closed and families will spend the evenings together, eventually converging at midnight to hear the sages ring the massive iron bells which are said to rid those in attendance of the sins of the past year. It’s an uplifting, if not somewhat somber time for the energetic people of his country.

For Zuko the New Year brings mixed emotions. It is supposed to mark good tidings, to wash away the mistakes of the past year and to begin anew. It’s supposed to be a time of hope and optimism. In the past, it had been. But now it just reminds him that he is another year older. At this point in his life he wonders just how many more new years he will see.

He had dismissed the beach house staff two days prior, allowing them time off to spend with family and friends over the next few days. They had prepared everything he might need in their absence and urged him to call if any emergency arose. He knows that the staff finds it odd that he would want to spend the holiday alone; if he followed tradition he would be back in the capitol, eating noodles with his daughter and grandchildren, toasting their happiness. The staff doesn’t ask him to explain his preferences, and that’s just as well. In a last ditch attempt to get him to socialize, his head attendant invited him to join their year-forgetting party, but Zuko politely declined.

He doesn’t want to forget. He wants to keep it all: the good and the bad, the joy and the sorrow, his mistakes as well as his triumphs. His experiences and his memories are what make him who his is, and he wants to keep them close.

Instead of celebrating, Zuko uses the New Year as a time of reflection. When the sun goes down, he takes a basket of food and a bottle of rice wine down to the beach and shares a meal with the tides. He watches the water, gazes at the stars. Even from this distance, at midnight he can hear the deep resonating sound of the bells as they echo across the hills. When he does he takes this as his cue to move his efforts to the courtyard.

He gathers a stack of portraits and photographs and lines them up reverently on the lanai outside. At the touch of his fingers the tips of incense sticks glow bright, sending curls of smoke into the night air. One by one, he honors each of his departed friends and family members in turn. Some of the portraits are older than others; some he has been staring at since he was a child and some have only been added in the past decade or so. All of them are precious.

He starts with the people he lost first – his mother, Lu Ten – and works his way up to the present. He loses himself in memories, not just of their loss but of their lives. It’s a bittersweet activity indeed. By the time he feels the pull of dawn he is ready to make his way across the courtyard and into the copse of trees to greet the final person on his list.

* * *

_Winter – 23 years post war_

Zuko jolts awake.

Panic floods his blood, curling tight in his chest and sending his heart racing. He jerks into a sitting position, his eyes darting wildly in the dark. At first he sees nothing, but after a few blinks the room comes into focus to reveal the same objects that always surround him as he sleeps: a nightstand, gauzy red curtains that frame an east-facing window, a tapestry of the Fire Nation islands illuminated by moonlight. Everything is exactly where it should be.

A moment passes, then two. He takes a deep, shaking breath. Locks of hair are matted on his brow as he swipes a hand over his face. When it no longer feels as though he might shake apart, he eases himself back down on the bed.

Well. He hasn’t had one of _those_ in a while.

He couldn’t call them nightmares, because there was no dream attached to them. There was no haunting image of Ozai towering over him with a fist full of fire or scenes of his cackling sister encasing him in a web of blue light. Not that there hadn’t been plenty of _those_ in his youth, too. But these were different. Just sheer dread and panic that rocketed him awake, filling him certainty that the world was finally coming to an end.

But it wasn’t. Everything was fine. Nothing shifted in the shadows or waited to leap out at him. While it might have been a more reasonable concern in the past, years of peace had reduced serious threats to a minimum. There was no reason for him to be frightened. He was safe.

He shakes it off. It’s still early, just before dawn, and if he’s lucky he might still catch a little more precious sleep. He carefully drapes an arm over the woman sleeping soundly next to him and lets his eyes drift closed. He almost makes it.

Until the door to the royal suite creaks open.

Cold fingers of adrenaline crawl across his skin. This was no dream, no night terror. He lies perfectly still as a thin shaft of light creeps across the bed before shrinking again as the door clicks shut. Zuko feigns sleep, keeping his breathing soft and even, while his mind rushes ahead – _Where were the guards? Was this it? How many was it this time and how did they manage to get this far?_

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._ The sound of slow, tiptoed footsteps creeps toward the bed. Whoever his assailant was, they were clumsy, and they were alone. This should be no challenge at all. His muscles tense, ready to strike.

Closer. Closer. Almost there.

Then, from behind him, his attacker _giggles._

A small body flings itself onto the bed, jostling its occupants. A child’s gleeful voice fills the room.

“Happy birthday, Father!”

 _Ah. Yes._ Relief outweighs any irritation as his jangled nerves begin to smooth out. His arm tightens around his wife’s waist and he burrows his face into her hair. “It appears your daughter is awake early today,” he murmurs.

Mai snorts and tugs the blankets over her eyes. _“Your_ daughter.”

Small hands are shaking his shoulder and snaking their way around his neck in an awkward hug. “Wake up, Father! It’s your birthday!”

He disengages his arm and rolls over, waving a hand to light a nearby lantern. He catches Izumi and hauls her into his lap. She laughs as he tickles her sides. “You’ve been practicing your stealth, I see. Very good.”

“Did I surprise you?”

He kisses her temple. “You sure did.” He drops his voice into a mock whisper. “Now, let’s practice it a little more and sneak down to the dining hall for some breakfast. We’ll let your mother sleep a little longer.”

She whispers back, the same conspiratorial tone in her voice. “But Uncle Iroh says we must all get up now!”

 _Iroh_. He had arrived at the palace unannounced but more than welcome a week prior, reminding Zuko that his birthday was on the horizon and it was only proper that he be present to help the family celebrate. Zuko had balked at the idea of celebrating; Iroh insisted. Zuko refused, Iroh countered. In the end, Zuko compromised and agreed to let the old man have his way, as long as he promised to keep it simple.

“Yes, Father. He said we have to prepare and look our best.”

 _Prepare? For what?_ Already this was sounding suspicious. “Did he now?”

“Yes! He said that we needed to wake up extra early today so that we would be ready in time for the p – “ Her little hands come up and cover her mouth dramatically. “Oops.”

“The what?”

She shakes her head, her loose hair skimming over her shoulders. “I promised not to tell. It’s a surprise.”

“Surely you can tell me though, right?” He has the strangest urge to crawl back under the covers.

“Sorry, Father. A promise is a promise. It would be dishonorable for me to tell.”

Zuko can already feel a headache coming on, though a distant part of him sparks with pride at his daughter’s integrity. He sighs. “You’re right.” He reaches over and rubs a hand over the huddled lump of blankets that is his wife. “Come on, Fire Lady. Let’s go see what Uncle has planned for us today.”

She turns to him and gives him her most deadpan look, though the glint of amusement in her eyes and her disheveled hair ruin the effect. _“Your_ uncle.”

He leans over and presses a quick kiss to her forehead before scooping up his wriggling daughter and heading for the doors. “See you at breakfast.”

His attendants are oddly quiet as they dress him in his finest robes and work his hair into a sleek half topknot. On any other day he’d be hearing the droning monotone of his head advisor as he briefs Zuko on his responsibilities for the day, but the only sounds are of whispering silk and the soft tutting of a servant who is struggling to flatten out a stray kink in the hair that falls past his shoulders. He accepts a hot towel and dabs at his face.

“What’s on the agenda today?”

All the servants pointedly avoid eye contact. The bad feeling in his gut intensifies. He tries again. “Well?”

His tailor’s meek voice finds him from the floor where he is adjusting the hem of his robe. “We were instructed not to say anything, your majesty.”

“Funny, I don’t remember abdicating the throne. Is there another Fire Lord that I should know about that is issuing orders which supersede mine?” Despite keeping his tone light, the man at his feet cringes. Zuko frowns. No one around here could take a joke.

“What I meant to say, your majesty, was that General Iroh humbly requested that he be allowed to inform you of the day’s agenda himself.”

Of course he did. “And did General Iroh say when he would bestow these carefully guarded secrets upon me?”

“He will meet you for breakfast, my lord.” The tailor stands and inspects his work and the servant corralling his hair makes a final adjustment and steps back. Zuko waits as they give him a final once over. “We’re finished, your majesty. If it pleases you, General Iroh should be waiting for you in the dining hall.”

Zuko resists the urge to rub his temples, as it would only earn him an extended stay with his servants to fix his meticulously prepared hair. Instead he nods and makes his way to the dining hall, where his Uncle is indeed waiting for him. He notes with some satisfaction that at least Iroh is not immune to whatever scheme he has cooked up, as he too is dressed in his finest. Zuko takes a seat at the head of the table and a plate of food materializes in front of him. Iroh sips his tea and beams at him from his right.

“Good morning, Fire Lord Zuko! Seeing as you are up bright and early, I can only assume that Princess Izumi was successful in rousing you.”

“Good morning, Uncle. I see that your tactical skills are still intact, considering that you elected her as a messenger.”

“She elected herself for the task; she wanted to be the first to give you her best wishes. However, I do admit it provided an excellent opportunity. You might have roasted anyone else who dared disturb your sleep.”

Zuko frowns. “I almost _did_ , but only because I thought she was an assassin. I’m not _that_ cranky in the morning.”

“I have somewhat different memories from the years we travelled together.”

Zuko mumbles and reaches for his chopsticks. “I’m not sixteen anymore, Uncle. I would like to think that I’ve matured at least a little since then.”

Iroh smiles. “Of course! And what a fine man you have become. One _most_ worthy of celebration, if I do say so myself.”

 _Here it comes._ Zuko swallows a bite of rice and gives Iroh a tired look. “Out with it. What conspiracy do you have planned? And where are my wife and daughter?”

“They will meet us later after they have finished preparing for the day. They too will want to look their best.”

“Hmm. Mai won’t thank you for it if you’ve planned anything formal. You know she hates those things as much as I do.”

Iroh’s eyes twinkle. “Who do you think helped me arrange all of the details?”

Impossible. Zuko narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugs. “Well, her and a few of your closest friends.”

Zuko’s stomach drops. “My friends? What do they have to do with this?”

Iroh claps his hands in front of him. “I’ve said too much already! Hurry and finish your breakfast, we have places to be!”

Iroh moves to get up from the table, but Zuko reaches over and catches his wrist. The skin feels paper thin under his fingers and he relaxes his grip a fraction. “Uncle, we agreed on nothing too extravagant. How many ‘details’ could there possibly be for a family gathering?”

Iroh waves him off. “Family is a relative term, Zuko. You are the Fire Lord, and today is your fortieth birthday! It is a most auspicious occasion. Many people love you and want to honor you, so why not let them?”

The breakfast in his stomach churns madly. “Just how many people are we talking about?”

With the speed of a much younger man, Iroh slips Zuko’s grip and captures his hand, pulling Zuko to his feet and dragging him away from his unfinished meal with deceptive strength. “Perhaps a few more than originally planned, but I promise you won’t regret it.”

That promise is already proving questionable as soon as they step outside onto the palace grounds. Zuko watches with horror as servants flit about, hanging colorful paper lanterns in the trees, arranging chairs and long tables, and - dear Agni is that a _stage?_   But nothing can prepare him for the sight waiting for him as he and Iroh approach the back gates of the palace.

Zuko’s voice is strained. “I see that Druk made the guest list.”

Iroh smiles and pats the gleaming red scales of the dragon that is coiled in front of the gates, effectively blocking the entrance. “Is he not a member of the family?” Druk grunts his approval and eyes Zuko speculatively.

Zuko resists the urge to cower. “Of course, but – “

Iroh glances over Zuko’s shoulder. “Ah! I see the rest of the royal family has arrived!” Zuko turns and sees his wife and daughter approach, hair gleaming and robes tailored to perfection. Izumi holds her elegant posture until she is twenty paces away, and then she explodes into a sprint, colliding with Zuko in a tight hug. Her smile is stretched wide as she grins up at him.

“Isn’t this exciting, Father? A parade!”

The bottom drops out of Zuko’s universe. A strangled sound escapes his throat as he eyes his Uncle, who has taken his wife’s arm and is ignoring him completely. _“Parade?”_

Izumi releases him and twirls, robes flaring around her ankles. “This is going to be so much fun! I’ve never been in a parade before!”

Zuko answers distractedly as he tries unsuccessfully to catch Iroh’s eye. “That’s not entirely true. When you were six months old there was a parade to introduce you to the people as the crown princess.”

Izumi wrinkles her nose. “That’s different. I was just a baby then. Now I’m grown up and can greet everyone properly!”

At that Zuko stops plotting his Uncle’s untimely demise and looks at his daughter as if for the first time. Something snags at his heart as he registers how tall she has become and for a brief moment he can picture the years to come, when she grows into her pretty face and long limbs and dear spirits was she really already ten years old? Was he really f _orty?_ The agitation that threatened to overwhelm him only moments ago is replaced by something a little softer, and a little sadder.

“Right. I suppose you are.”

Servants bearing the royal palanquin arrive, stopping a safe distance away from the dragon. On resigned feet he leads his daughter toward it, but his uncle stops him.

“Not so fast! Your ride is over there.”

He really should have listened to his instincts and stayed in bed. He leads his Uncle closer to Druk, out of earshot of the rest of his family, and tries to keep his voice calm. “A parade, Uncle? Really?”

Iroh feigns innocence. “What’s a citywide celebration without a parade?”

“Citywide…?” He resists the urge to cry. “Uncle, the crown can’t possibly support the expense.”

“Your people work hard, Zuko, and they love how hard you work for them in return. Think of this as a well-deserved break for all of you.”

“They won’t love that their taxes are going to frivolity rather than new roads or textbooks.”

“Who said anything about tax money? It’s taken care of. Now, climb up on Druk and let your people cheer for you!”

The childish urge to stomp his feet and remain rooted in place rises in his mind, but his body seems to move against his will as his Uncle gives him a push toward his cold-blooded companion. “Remind me of what the word ‘extravagant’ means to you, Uncle. Because I think riding through the streets on a dragon and throwing a party for thousands of people might just top the list.”

“Nonsense. What better way to simultaneously demonstrate the power and benevolence of the Fire Lord?” Iroh winks. “It will certainly give them something to talk about.”

Crafty old dragon. He continues to protest even as he hitches a leg over Druk’s sinuous neck and settles behind his horns, but his voice is less angry and more pleading. “It’s not too late to call this off. I’m sure the people will be perfectly satisfied with whatever foolishness you have planned without all this.”

“Don’t be silly, Zuko. Citizens have been lining up in the streets for hours, and the rest of the parade is waiting just outside the gates. You mustn’t disappoint them.”

Zuko sighs. He tugs twice on the reins and Druk lumbers to his feet, hoisting Zuko into the air. From below Iroh cranes his neck and smiles. Zuko calls down to him. “Fine. But don’t forget Uncle, _your_ birthday is only a few months away. That’s plenty of time for me to figure out a way to get you back.”

Iroh just laughs and waves as he walks back to join the rest of the royal family. “Be sure to smile, your majesty! _Everyone_ will be watching!”

Zuko rolls his eyes. He squares his shoulders and sits straighter. Druk repositions himself and faces the city at large, his claws clicking against the cobblestone road as he readjusts. As soon as they clear the outer walls a cheer goes up and Zuko can see that Uncle was right: the streets ahead are clogged and lines of soldiers barely restrain the surging mass. It seemed that the entire capital had turned out for the occasion. They pause at the gates as the Imperial Firebenders fall into place around them, and as he waits a flash of orange catches his eye from the right.

“Hey Zuko! Happy birthday!!”

_Aang?_

Not _just_ Aang. Uncle had truly outdone himself. Behind Appa is a long line of performers and honored guests waiting to march behind him, so long that he can’t see the end as it curves around the palace walls. On the sidewalks vendors are preparing their wares and he can smell food cooking. Just as he is weakly returning the Avatar’s enthusiastic wave it hits him: if Aang is here, than so is –

“Surprise! Happy birthday, Zuko!” A familiar figure in blue pops up from behind Aang in Appa’s saddle and his heart squeezes at the breadth of her smile.

And then they are moving. Zuko takes one final breath and carefully arranges his expression into one of imperious neutrality despite the racing of his heart.

By the time they return to the palace the sun is at its peak. Zuko can feel his robes sticking to his skin and his stomach is rumbling. Despite all of this, he feels considerably better than he did earlier that morning. For all of his frustrating unpredictability, Iroh had been right yet again. If it had been up to him, Zuko probably would have spent the day as he always did: surrounded by paperwork and politicians. But it was good to get out and see his people, and they seemed pleased to see him. More importantly, though, he can still hear his daughter’s delighted laughter from the palanquin behind him, and that alone made the spectacle worth it.

He dismounts and strides toward the palanquin as it enters, offering his wife a hand as she steps down. She peeks at him from beneath the paper umbrella she carries. “Can we not do that again, please?”

He gives her an apologetic look. “You know we’ll have to next year.” He makes a face. “Wait. I thought you helped Uncle plan all of this.”

“Not that part. It was a surprise to me too.”

“Father!” Izumi’s voice carries as she exits the palanquin, gripping Iroh’s hand and pulling him forward. “Did you see all the people? They were so happy to see us! I waved and they waved back! It was _so_ much fun! Can we please do that again sometime? Pretty please with fire flakes on top?”

Zuko smiles and shares a look with Mai. “We’ll see.”

Iroh recaptures his arm from the princess and pats her on the head. “I must say, that was quite the success! But now you must excuse me, as I must oversee the second stage of celebrations.”

“There’s more?”

“But of course! Though I must admit this stage is fraught with a few more potential landmines than the last.”

“You make it sound more like waging war than a birthday party. Should I be concerned?”

“No need to worry. This is a battlefield you are more than familiar with, nephew. Once you’ve gathered your friends you can meet me in the banquet hall.”

Before Zuko can ask more a low groan fills the air and a flying bison enters the gates guided by his companion. Aang hops down from between the reins and jogs toward them. His light steps are deceptive; the man who slams into Zuko is solid and his arms are strong as they pull him in for a tight hug. Zuko matches his strength as he hugs him back.

“Great to see you again, old buddy!”

From over Aang’s shoulder he catches Katara’s graceful movements as she bends an ice slide from Appa’s saddle. Two children giggle as they slide down, followed by their mother carrying a third. She calls out to the older children.

“Kya! Bumi! No running!”

Aang releases Zuko and smiles at his wife. Katara sets a squirming Tenzin down and he scrambles after his siblings. The children gather around the princess and the adults are immediately forgotten as they exchange excited tales from the parade.

Zuko swallows as Katara approaches. She is stunning in her formal blue robes, her hair half swept in elegant braids that coil around her head like a crown. Ironically, it’s more common for him to see her in formal wear these days than casual dress; their paths tend to cross most often at quarterly political summits. But it doesn’t matter how many times he’s seen her like this; she is as beautiful as ever. He keeps waiting for age to catch up with her, but instead it has only made her more striking. The differences are clear – her hair is longer, her figure is fuller, her eyes crinkle at the corners just a bit – but as she comes closer he can’t help but be reminded of how she looked on the autumn day decades ago when she arrived for a visit, when he thought she might just come to the palace to stay. Probably _would_ have stayed if it hadn’t been for his own stupidity. If fact, the last time he had seen her in his home was when she had regarded him icily before vanishing; he counts it as no accident that she has not returned to the palace despite visiting the Fire Nation on countless occasions since then.

But that was ancient history. They both had their own families and their own lives. There was no harm in greeting an old friend; he’d done it numerous times over the years and just because she was here in his home made no difference, right? She was here now, and he should just enjoy it. Except that he can feel the eyes of the others on him and he wonders why this is so disquieting. He does his best to keep his breath even as she steps into his embrace.

He whispers into her hair. “Welcome back.”

“Good to _be_ back.”

She steps out of his arms and for just an instant their eyes meet and his world narrows to the curve of her smile. Then she turns and greets his wife.

“Mai! So good to see you! You look positively radiant today!”

Despite the time that’s passed it’s still a little bizarre to see the two women interact, and even more so to see them embrace. They quickly dissolve into conversation and it is the men’s turn to be forgotten. Seemingly reading his mind, Aang leans an elbow on Zuko’s shoulder and says, “Being the birthday boy sure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

Zuko shrugs. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I think Katara writes to Mai even more than she writes to me. You’ve seen how they are at the reunions.”

Aang nods. “Speaking of which, where’s the next one going to be?”

“I think it’s Uncle’s turn to host.” A spark ignites in Zuko’s mind as he remembers his threat to Iroh earlier that day. “Say, maybe you could help me with something – “

“Fire Lord Sparky and Avatar Twinkletoes! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

Toph rounds the gate, her gait confident. She is followed by a retinue of officers who file off at her dismissal. When she reaches Aang and Zuko she punches both of them in greeting.

Aang rubs his shoulder and smiles. “Nice try, Toph. You’re blind.”

“Sore feet, then. I _have_ been marching in a parade for two hours, you know.”

“You were in the parade too?” It’s beginning to dawn on Zuko that his Uncle is shrewder than he gave him credit for: why spend extra money on more performers when you could call on the Avatar and his friends for favors instead?

“Sure was. Brought a few of my officers with me to perform some metalbending for the crowds.”

“I bet people were impressed,” Aang says.

“Damn straight they were. It’s nice to be appreciated for once. The people of Republic City just don’t get excited about metalbending like they should anymore. I’ll tell you, back when I was just a rookie, I – “

“Don’t listen to her. People were _way_ more excited to see us.”

An open carriage pulled by four ostrich horses pulls in, and Sokka and Suki climb out. Children of various ages pile out and race to join the princess and her friends. Squeals of delight fill the air and an impromptu game of tag breaks out. Sokka’s grip on Zuko’s forearm is strong as he shakes his hand Water Tribe style.

Toph snorts. “Right. Because your sword is _so_ impressive, Sokka.”

“Hey, we’re war heroes, remember? International treasures!”

“We’re _all_ war heroes, Snoozles.”

Sokka stands a little straighter. “That’s Chief Snoozles to you.”

Suki speaks up. “I think the crowds were more impressed with the acrobats behind us, dear.” She looks thoughtful. “Except for maybe that guy foaming at the mouth. I think he was just really excited to see Aang’s marble trick.”

Zuko’s mind snags on a detail. “Wait. Did you say acrobats?”

Before she can respond a flash of pink flips toward them and launches itself at the Fire Lord.

_“Zuko!”_

Zuko pats a tentative hand against his assailant’s back and feels a thick braid dangling there. “…Ty Lee? It’s been ages.”

She squeezes him hard and then flips back, landing in perfect form. Behind her a colorful troupe of performers straggle through the gates. “Sure has! The circus keeps me pretty busy so I’ve missed the past few reunions, but when Iroh wrote me and asked us to perform I couldn’t say no!”

Zuko is confused. “I thought you joined the Kyoshi Warriors?”

Suki speaks up. “The conformity ended up being too much. She’s still an honorary member.”

Ty Lee’s attention is obviously elsewhere as she scans the assembled adults. When she finds her target her hands come up under her chin and Zuko tries not to wince as she squeals in delight.

_“Mai!”_

His wife startles when Ty Lee throws her arms around her but then responds just as fiercely. Ty Lee pulls back but keeps her hands on Mai’s shoulders. “Look at you! Your aura is just so… so _bright!”_

Mai’s eyes skip away. “I’m sure it’s just the heat.”

Ty Lee shakes her head. “No, it’s more than that. I haven’t seen it this color since…” Ty Lee’s eyes pop. “You’re pregnant!”

Zuko watches his wife’s eye twitch almost imperceptibly in the collective silence that follows. “Gee, announce it to the world, why don’t you.”

Suddenly the group comes alive all at once, complete with toothy smiles and hearty congratulations. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason he feels uneasy making this announcement with Katara there. He chances a glance at her, but she is too busy mooning over his wife to pay him any notice. Aang captures him in a side hug and Sokka elbows him from the other side. “You sly raccoon-dog, who knew an old man like you could pull it off?”

Zuko frowns. “I’m not _that_ old.”

Aang pipes up. “That’s right, Sokka. You’ll be forty next year, you know.”

Sokka waves Aang off. “That’s, like, a whole year from now.” He throws a casual arm around Zuko’s shoulder. “So, what made you want to have another one now? Izumi’s a little old to need a playmate.”

Zuko drops his voice and mutters, “It’s an… unexpected blessing.”

Toph whoops and slaps him on the back. “Well, congratulations Sparky. Now we’ve got something real to celebrate. This calls for a toast.”

“What, my birthday wasn’t enough for you?”

Sokka chuckles. “Pfft. You’ve had forty birthdays. This is a new prince or princess ponytail! I’m with Toph. Where’s the party at? We all need a drink and some food. All that waving and catering to the adoring public really worked up my appetite.”

Zuko gives him a light shove in the direction of the palace. “The banquet hall is that way. I’m sure Uncle is ready for us by now.” He pulls Aang in by the elbow. “Could you make sure no one mentions this to anyone? We haven’t made a public announcement yet.”

“Sure thing. Go on ahead with Mai and the kids. I’ve got this.” Zuko nods and takes his wife’s arm as he hears Aang call out in a clear voice. “Hey! Team Avatar huddle!”

Mai leans into him as they keep a causal pace toward the palace. He can see a thin line of sweat along her hairline despite the shade of her umbrella.

“Are you feeling okay?”

She nods. “Just tired. I was tired like this last time too. You remember.”

He doesn’t, but he feels it’s unwise to admit it. “Are you upset that they found out?”

“It’s not like we could keep it a secret forever, Zuko. It will become obvious soon enough.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted but – “

She halts and turns to face him. “Zuko, stop. We’ve been over this. This is what I want. I might hate being pregnant, but I love you, and I love having a family with you.” She gives him a smile, one of the rare soft ones he loves. “Now quit fussing and put on your most intimidating glare. It’s time to join the nobles for lunch.”

His shoulders droop. “This is feeling less and less like a celebration and more like petty torture.”

She reaches up and straightens the collar on his robes. “You can’t possibly be surprised. You know you’ll need their support for the farming proposals in the spring, so we can’t afford to slight them now. Iroh agreed this was a necessary evil.”

He steals a quick kiss. “You’re so beautiful when you’re preparing to endure mind-numbing political obligations.”

“Ah, _now_ I know why you married me.”

He winces inwardly. It might be a joke but it’s a bad one. She hadn’t been his first choice and she knew it - in the early years of their marriage she had discovered the necklace he had carved and had foolishly held on to – but those were the choices of a younger man. Time had a funny way of changing and distorting things. The passion he once held for Katara had transformed from a burning flame to the warm glow of embers. No less strong and no less sweet, but different all the same. Or so he had come to tell himself as the decades passed. It was easy to forget, with a wife and family and a country to rule.

He meets Mai’s eyes and intones, “No, that is why I _love_ you. One of many reasons.” This is the truth, the one he can give her.

Mai studies him for a moment and then rolls her eyes. “You’re always so dramatic, Zuko. I was only teasing. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

The banquet is as tedious as Mai predicted it would be; while the citizens of the capital danced in the streets and gorged themselves on festival food, he was stuck inside dabbing his mouth with a silk napkin and trying not to fall asleep during the endless speeches and toasts. It isn’t quite as bad as his wedding, but almost worse than the Earth King’s coronation. Thankfully, Mai has no need to elbow him this time. Over the years he has developed a little game to keep him occupied at times like these, and he keeps himself awake by counting the number of times his council members use the same empty words to describe him. “Honorable” and “accomplished” top the list, with “great” coming in at a close third.

When the speeches are over the desserts are served and casual conversation starts to fill the room. A subtle competition begins among the attendees regarding who will be first to approach the royal table and present the Fire Lord with their gift. He can feel them eyeing each other, sending imperceptible hints to rivals to back down while gathering their courage. In the end it’s all for naught; Aang beats them to it. He strides to the front of the hall and Zuko almost laughs out loud at the disappointed faces of the aristocrats. _Can’t pull rank on the Avatar, can you?_

Aang bows politely and presents Zuko with a thick book elegantly bound in dyed green leather. Zuko’s heart skips when he sees the title: _Folklore from the Four Nations – A Complete Collection._

“Happy birthday, Zuko, from all of us. Katara helped pick this out, she said that you liked old legends and might enjoy reading it to your kids- ” Zuko glares - “I mean, kid. She insisted we get a copy too, it’s become a bedtime favorite at the temple. There’s actually some pretty interesting stuff in there. Hope you like it.”

Zuko inclines his head. “Thank you, Avatar Aang. This is very thoughtful. Your family honors me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Aang makes his way back to his seat and Zuko thumbs through the table of contents. They’re all here – the tale of the Painted Lady, the three-eyed dragon hawk and the Earth King, and the Sky Princess and the Cow-Herder Star. A nostalgic ache centers low in his chest. He glances up to where Katara is sitting and she is smiling at him warmly, making his heart squirm. He nods and quickly looks away.

After that the parade of gifts begins in earnest, and while he receives many fine and valuable tributes the book remains his favorite. Finally, after the last present is laid with the rest, his head council member gives one last toast and they are adjourned.

Iroh stands at the doors to the banquet hall thanking guests as they file out. When he closes the door only Team Avatar and their families remain. The group gives a collective sigh.

Iroh smirks. “Alright, everyone! Time to go change into something more comfortable! By then the stuffy old aristocrats will be off the grounds and the _real_ party can begin! Meet back in the gardens in one hour.”

By the time he struggles out of his formal wear and arrives back outside the party is in full swing. The sprawling gardens are alive with music and happy partygoers. Children chase fireflies in the open spaces as they wink into existence in the approaching dusk and servants are busy lighting the colorful lanterns that hang from the trees. A band has taken the stage and couples dance in an open area to a lively tune. A table off to one side is piled high with sweets and treats– including fruit tarts in honor of the Fire Lady and custard for the Avatar. He picks a few fire flakes from a bowl and heads into the crowd, grateful to be able to smile openly for the first time that day.

The guest list for this celebration is eclectic – there is Team Avatar of course, but there are also White Lotus members, Kyoshi Warriors, Republic City officers and their families, and acquaintances he has made from both poles. Most are more Uncle’s friends than Zuko’s; Zuko has had little opportunity or luxury of being close with many people. But they are people he likes and trusts nonetheless. He jumps right in, greeting old friends and meeting new ones. Though he still wears his crown in his hair, for the first time in ages he feels like just Zuko. Not the Fire Lord, a man with crushing responsibilities and obligations. Just a man enjoying the unseasonably warm winter air with friends and family.

Shortly after dark he spots Katara talking animatedly with a few Kyoshi Warriors as they sip drinks by the turtleduck pond. She tries to catch his eye and wave him over, but he just smiles woodenly and pretends like he has somewhere else to be. He makes a beeline for the first person he sees: Master Piandao. By the time his Uncle finds him in the throngs of people, Zuko is in stitches over a story about a thieving rabaroo that pilfered tea from the White Lotus camps before Sozin’s Comet arrived.

“Your Uncle was beside himself! He kept begging us to tell him who was stealing his tea, but none of us knew. If Cadet Cho hadn’t been sneaking into the rations tent that night for a midnight snack we would have never found out who the culprit really was.”

His Uncle’s voice comes up from behind them. “Ah yes, I remember that. Those were trying times indeed.”

Master Piando smiles and dips at the waist. “General Iroh, so good to see you again. Speaking of tea, may I get you some? Your hands seem to be empty.”

“How can I resist? Ginseng, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Excuse me.”

They watch him go, both taking in the joyous din of the party. Iroh lays his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Are you enjoying yourself, Zuko?”

“You were right as always. This is exactly what I needed.”

Iroh gives him a cheeky grin. “Not too extravagant?”

He gives him a sidelong look but then smiles. “Not this. This is perfect. You’ve given me an amazing gift tonight.”

Iroh’s smile softens. “You are my son. My greatest wish is for your happiness.”

Zuko’s eyes prick. Iroh startles when Zuko pulls him in, but settles easily into his embrace. “Thank you Uncle. For everything.”

Master Piando returns with Iroh’s tea and Zuko leaves them to talk about whatever it is that old people talk about. He finds his wife on a bench by the edge of the dancing area talking to Ty Lee, who is braiding flowers into the princess’ hair. Izumi greets him excitedly, alerting the women to his approach.

“Father! Look at my hair!”

“You look beautiful, sweetie. Did you have fun today?”

“Yes! We got to be in the parade, and then I got to play with all my old friends, and Ty Lee says that her troupe is going to perform in a little bit! I asked Mother if I could stay up and watch but she said I had to ask you. Can I Father? All my friends are going to and I don’t want to miss out!”

“Well, it is a special occasion. If it’s okay with your mother it’s okay with me. But straight to bed afterwards. You have bending lessons early in the morning.”

Izumi bounces excitedly on her knees as Ty Lee ties off the final knot. “Thank you Father! I have to go tell Bumi!” She pops up and gives a quick thanks to Ty Lee before bounding off across the gardens.

Ty Lee watches her go with wistful eyes and sighs. “How romantic.”

“What?”

“You weren’t here when she was talking about Bumi earlier. Her aura was _totally_ peachy-pink.”

Zuko isn’t sure he wants to know, but he asks anyway. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mai rolls her eyes. “Ty Lee is convinced that someday we’ll have the Avatar as an in-law.”

Zuko remembers his train of thought about Izumi from earlier that day and bristles. “She’s _ten_.”

“Mai had a crush on you when she was ten. Before that, even.”

_“Ty Lee!”_

“What Mai? Don’t give me that look; we all know it’s true. Besides, you can’t deny they would make an excellent match.”

Zuko looks across the gardens to where his daughter is chasing the boy in question around the trunk of a thick cherry tree. Without warning he leaps and grips one of the lower branches, pulling his knees up to evade her grasp as she tries to tag him. She overcompensates, stumbles, and lands gracelessly on the grass. Izumi scowls at him but he just responds by dangling from the branch by one arm and scratching his armpit with his free hand. Even from here he can hear the hog-monkey sounds he is making and his daughter’s resounding giggles.

Zuko cringes. Without permission, his mind begins to tick off the pros and cons of such a match, as though rational, calculating thought would somehow stave off the horrors of imagining his little girl growing up and getting married.

Con: Bumi wasn’t a bender, but that wasn’t necessarily a requirement for spouses of the Fire Lord. Zuko’s own wife wasn’t a bender, and no one except the strictest traditionalists had raised any objections on that front.

Pro: He couldn’t ask for a better political match, considering it would entail marrying the eldest children of the Avatar and the Fire Lord. If Zuko were more like his predecessors he might even see the darker sides of that opportunity, but thankfully he did not share his father’s appetite for empire. Still, it could carry favor with the other nations, and that was a definite plus.

Con: Bumi was not a Fire Nation citizen, and this might rile up the old purists more than the bending issue, but his advisors had assured him that even the stodgiest council members could be persuaded if one proved one’s commitment to the Fire Nation - Zuko’s thoughts grind to a halt as his current ponderings collide with past memories. He knew _exactly_ what the council members would say, as he had gathered that information on the sly for his own purposes years ago.

She would never know it, but he had been so ready to fight for her. But he had been too late.

As if to rub it in, the universe chooses that moment to alert him to the blue and orange clad couple on the nearby dance floor. He watches as Aang and Katara earn the attention of the crowd as they leap and duck around one another to the music. It takes him only a moment to recognize the nontraditional steps as bending moves. His heart aches a little at the sound of Katara’s laughter as she darts and flows around her husband but he ignores it. He’s still trying to decide what to make of the unusual display when Ty Lee speaks up.

“It’s never too early to start those wedding negotiations, you know.”

The innocent irony of the comment disgusts him, but he manages to refocus on the women in front of him. “Thanks, but I think we’ll just wait and see what happens.”

“Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Ty Lee stands and dusts herself off. “I should be going, I have to stretch and go over some last minute details with the crew. Will you be watching us perform?”

Zuko nods. “Of course.”

Mai stands up as well. “I’m sure you’ll put on quite the show, but I think I’m going to turn in early.”

Concern lances through him and he searches his wife’s face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m just really tired. I’ll be fine.”

Katara’s laughter rings out across the gardens once again and the words are out of his mouth before he can even think about them. “Dance with me first.”

“Zuko, really, I don’t have the energy – “

“Just one dance. Please. Think of it as my birthday present.” There’s a touch of desperation in his voice that he hopes she can’t hear.

Mai just rolls her eyes. “Only if you promise to stop making that face at me. It’s undignified.”

“Thank you. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He jogs to the platform where the band is performing and when the song ends he puts in his request. Then he makes his way back to Mai and pulls her by the hand to the center of the dance floor. The music begins, the tempo strong, staccato, and seductive.

Mai smirks. “Really? This song?”

He returns the look. “Takes you back, doesn’t it? Are you sure you want to make it an early night?”

She smacks his shoulder before getting into position. “You’re impossible. Now shut up and show everyone what the Fire Nation is made of.”

The dance is slow and sharp, all fluid grace punctuated by hard edges. Mai mirrors him flawlessly. They twine and weave around one another, like like forces pushed together then pulled apart, picking up speed as the music builds. He loses himself in it, eyes locked on his wife’s as she prowls nearer, breaking eye contact only as the song reaches its climax to spin into his embrace. As the last notes hang in the air Zuko dips Mai over one knee and presses his lips against the long column of her throat.

“Zuko,” she whispers in his ear, “There are children watching.”

He glances up and sees that it is true. And not just children. Even the adults in the immediate area seem spellbound by the display. He doesn’t see Aang or Katara in the crowd and doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or disappointed. He whispers back, “How do you think all these kids got here?”

This earns him a laugh as he pulls her upright. A new song starts and people begin to file back onto the dance floor. Mai’s lips quirk at the edges. “I suppose that was less boring than sleeping.” She leans in and gives him a quick kiss. “But I really am tired. Goodnight, Zuko. Happy birthday.”

He watches her go and contemplates following her until a hand claps onto his back.

“Wow, buddy, maybe you aren’t too old after all.”

Zuko channels some of his wife’s sarcasm. “Gee, thanks Sokka.”

“Seriously, I think I need a drink after that. You do too. Come on.”

Sokka leads him over to the barrels of rice wine. The first drink burns, but the second tingles pleasantly and blooms warm in his gut. A comfortable numbness creeps into the edges of his world and he is grateful for it.

Sokka eyes him competitively. “What do you say, Fire Lord? You might still be able to dance, but do you think you can still hold your liquor at your advanced age?”

“I’m not the one who almost puked all over Ambassador Chang three years ago at the Peace Commemoration.”

“If that’s the case, then what do you have to lose?”

“My guests’ respect, should you try to repeat history.”

“Hey, we’re all friends here! You know what I think?” His voice takes on a sing-song quality. “I think somebody’s a chicken-pig!” Sokka flaps his arms and spins around. “Bwawk! Bwawk bwawk bwawk!”

A female voice cuts across the nonsense. “Sokka!”

“What? I’m just trying to engage his highness in a little friendly competition.”

“Please.” Katara rolls her eyes as she and Aang approach. Toph trails behind them. “As if you need any reason to drink.” Katara holds out a cup of her own and Sokka fills it. “Besides, everyone knows if you want to rile up someone from the Fire Nation, the best way to do that is to challenge their honor.”

Discomfort crawls across Zuko’s skin as he tries to determine if this is meant to be a barb or a joke. It isn’t like her to be petty, but he can’t seem to bring himself to make eye contact with her to confirm. Sokka thinks nothing of it and continues. “Maybe that’s what _you_ would do, but _I_ have more dignity than to strike so low below the belt.”

Toph levels her empty gaze at him. “But not enough dignity to keep from squawking in public?”

Sokka opens his mouth and quickly shuts it. Aang saves him by changing the subject. “So, that was some performance. You looked great out there.”

Zuko rubs his neck, his head swimming a little. “We did a version of it when we got married.”

Aang looks confused. “I don’t remember seeing anything like that, and that seemed pretty memorable.”

The drink is making his tongue loose. “I didn’t say it was a public performance.”

“Oh.” Aang blinks. _“Oh._ Right… Say, isn’t that ‘The Girl from Ba Sing Se’ that they’re playing? We should all go dance.”

Zuko refills his drink. “You go ahead. My dance partner has retired for the evening.”

Aang looks around. “I’m sure we could find you a substitute. Where’s Ty Lee?”

“She’s busy prepping for her performance later.”

“What about Toph?”

All eyes turn to her and she makes a show of thinking it over. “Hmm. How about… no.”

“Aw, come on Toph, it’s Zuko’s birthday.”

She waves a hand in front of her face. “Blind, remember? No dancing.”

Katara chimes in. “It’s not that hard, Toph. If Zuko can teach me to dance, he can teach anyone.”

Aang looks at her with curiosity. “He did? I didn’t know that.”

“A version of it.” This time Zuko catches the teasing light in her eyes, but he isn’t sure if the comment is meant to be innuendo or mocking. It’s getting harder to think. He turns his attention to the cup in his hands.

“…Is that so?” Toph grabs the drink out of Sokka’s hand and chugs it back. Zuko barely has time to finish his own drink before she is tugging him by the wrist. “Then let’s see what you got, Sparky.”

The pairs settle in among the other partygoers and fall into step with the music. The dance is simple and Toph is surprisingly good. _Too_ good. He spins her and pulls her back in with no effort. He speaks low into her ear. “You little liar. You know how to dance.”

“Never said I didn’t know how. I just thought if those yahoos were occupied I might be able to chat with you in private. But this is as good of an opportunity as any.”

He takes her hand in his, leads her in a half-circle. Her palm is calloused and rough against his own. “You wanted to talk to me? What about?”

“Why are you avoiding Katara?”

He misses a step. “I haven’t been. I’ve just been… mingling.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she stepped on his toes on purpose. Actually, she probably did. “Right. And I’m the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe.”

He sighs. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. I can feel those vibrations you give off, so you may as well come clean.”

He gives her a scowl that he knows she can’t see but that he hopes she can feel. “And could you feel the ‘vibrations’ when I was dancing with my wife?”

Toph is unfazed. “Sure did. But one vibration does not negate the other.”

He hates where this conversation is going. Zuko has half a mind to storm off the dance floor and get himself another drink. Or three. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs as he leads her through the steps. “That you’ve got some strong feelings, but they aren’t all pointed in one direction.”

He snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. Katara and I… That was a long time ago.”

“Hey, take it from someone whose daughters have two different dads. Sometimes in life we love more than one person. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. Doesn’t mean we have to stop loving them.”

The energy drains out of him. He loses the will to fight her, or what she is saying. Damn her, anyway. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because denial is making you weird. Stop avoiding Katara. It hurts her feelings and by proxy it hurts mine, because I’ll have to feel her mopey vibes all the way home. So knock it off.”

He’s suspicious of this reasoning, but the train of thought derails along the river of strong drink in his blood. “I’m not being weird.”

“Oh? Want to prove it?”

“What – “

 _“Aang!”_ Katara and Aang dance closer to them. “Sparky’s too stiff for my taste. I need someone lighter on their feet. Trade me.”

Aang looks at Katara before he shrugs. “If you say so.”

Toph steps out of the way as Aang spins Katara out and into Zuko’s waiting arms. She bumps against his chest and he quickly adjusts their position so that the distance between them is appropriate. Toph smirks at him before subtly shifting her and Aang farther away. He watches her go, dumbstruck and more than a little miffed. Katara’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to look at your dance partner?”

His attention refocuses and it’s too much. The music, the soft light from the lanterns, her bright blue eyes – all that’s missing is the mask. But they aren’t on Ember Island, they are at the palace, and perhaps that’s why this is so hard, so _weird_. Most of these feelings had lay dormant for the past two decades and that’s where they should stay. He’s had no problem interacting with her at any other function, but having her here in his home - in his _arms_ \- he can’t help but be transported to days when his bones hummed with exhaustion with the love he felt for her. Giddiness and shame war for prominence in his mind.

“Zuko? You okay? You’re making kind of a weird face.”

He blinks and tries to rearrange his features into a neutral expression. “Perhaps your brother was right, perhaps I’m not as skilled at holding my liquor as I used to be.”

The concern on her face only amplifies his guilt. “Do you need to sit down? We don’t have to – “

“No.” Against his will, his hand tightens around hers. “No, I want to. I’ll be fine.”

Eye contact feels like too much, his eyes skip away and fall to her shoulder where another horrifying detail threatens to overtake him. “That pin. You still have it.”

She glances down at the enameled pin, its finish gleaming softly. “Of course I do. The Fire Lord gave it to me. Or, rather, I gave it to him and he gave it back. Royals are so rude, you know?”

It’s too much. He can’t fight it anymore. He gives in and smiles. “Entitled brats”

“I know. Even still, I promised his majesty that I’d wear it. He gave me some goofy line about bringing honor to the crown by proxy. He was so nervous that I couldn’t help but be charmed and agree.”

He’d been trying to avoid these memories, stuff them down where they could do no harm, but somehow hinting at them brings them out into the open and makes them look a little less shameful. He can feel some of his discomfort melting away. He could do this. “It was kind of you to take pity on him, though I’m sure it wasn’t a line. I’m sure he genuinely admired you and was grateful for your support.”

Her smile is soft. “It wasn’t pity. I admired him, too.”

He swallows. “Katara, I – “

The song ends abruptly and a man in a colorful costume appears in front of the band. “Good evening, everyone! Hope you all are enjoying yourselves. In ten minutes you’ll be treated to a very special performance, courtesy of the Fire Nation’s finest tumblers, acrobats, and ornamental benders! Come to the stage at the east end of the gardens, you won’t want to miss it!”

The moment might be broken, but whatever fissure he was keeping between them feels mended. Over her shoulder he can see Aang and Toph approaching. Zuko takes a step back and Katara takes her husband’s offered arm. The Avatar and his wife lead the way as guests begin to migrate toward the opposite end of the grounds. Toph falls into step next to Zuko, radiating smugness.

“Told you.”

He feigns innocence. “What?”

“That you were being weird.”

He feels oddly light. “Maybe. But I’m not now.”

“Nope. But only because of earthbender intervention. Seriously, when are you all gonna learn that you gotta face things head on?”

He sends her a smile that he knows she can’t see but hopes she can feel. “You’re right. Thanks, Toph.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m sure I’ll find a way for you to pay me back later.” She stretches her hands over her head and yawns. “I’d better go find my girls. I’m sure Suyin is living it up but Lin can be a bit of a stick in the mud. I need to make sure they’re playing nice.”

“Playing nice? With you as their mother?”

Toph laughs. “Thankfully they have plenty of other role models. See you later, Sparky.”

He stops by the barrels of rice wine and pours himself one more drink before joining the crowds at the stage. The children have gathered at the front and jostle each other playfully as they wait for the performance to begin. Most of the adults have gathered as well and settle along benches set up for the occasion. A raised platform furnished with cushions is positioned in the back, reserved for the royal family. There are a few assorted snacks and pitchers of water and rice wine provided on trays. Zuko settles on one of the cushions and scans the crowds. Toph has taken a seat on the ground near her daughters, and his own daughter is situated next to Bumi in the front with the rest of the children. He can’t help but notice the way their knees touch. As he sips his drink he thinks that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad having the Avatar and a Master Waterbender as in-laws after all.

The couple in question appears moments later, along with Sokka and Suki. The four of them claim an empty bench and Katara turns to smirk at him. “I see that being the Fire Lord still has its perks.”

“Indeed.” Sokka is eyeing him with the purest envy, so Zuko picks up a bowl of fire flakes and savors a few. He turns his attention back to Katara and returns her wry smile. “Though I have to admit, it can be lonely at the top. You all wouldn’t care to join me, would you?”

Sokka pops up and grabs his wife’s wrist, hauling her toward the platform. “Don’t mind if we do!” He quickly sits down on the far end of the platform and pulls a few snacks to his side. “Come on, Katara, bring Aang up here. The view is great.”

Katara mounts the stairs and kneels on the cushion next to him, with Aang to her left. It feels right, somehow. All the members of his family are either present or otherwise accounted for, here in his home enjoying his hospitality. All except –

“Has anyone seen my Uncle?”

Suki leans around Sokka, who is gorging himself on skewers of roasted meat. “I saw him not too long ago; he said he had one more surprise and that he would see us after the performance.”

The show begins and it is as spectacular as one would expect. For the limited space and equipment, Ty Lee and her troupe dazzle the audience members with their tricks and flips. The children squeal and laugh as the tumblers perform tricks with trained poodle-monkeys and hold their breath as one of the crew juggles an increasing number of flaming balls.

The performance concludes with ornamental firebending, which has the audience’s rapt attention. They honor the four nations, creating detailed and elegant dragons, badgermoles, sky bison, and even Tui and La. When they ask for a volunteer from the audience he sees Aang and Katara exchange a look from the corner of his eye. A Kyoshi Warrior takes the stage and sits perfectly still, her face a mix of awe and fear as the benders weave intricate ribbons of fire around her, steadily adding to it until she is encased in rotating rings of flames. Without warning the rings expand and explode into a shower of colored confetti. The children leap to their feet, clapping and dancing with bits of paper falling into their hair.

The audience cheers and claps as the performers take their final bows, and the area starts to clear as people make their way back toward the dance floor and the food tables. Team Avatar and their children converge for the first time since that morning, but almost as soon as they are together they branch off again. Sokka and Suki offer to take the rest of the kids back to the guest quarters to put them to bed. Hugs and goodnight kisses are exchanged. Toph excuses herself to check in on her officers, leaving the Avatar, the Fire Lord, and the world’s most powerful waterbender to watch them go.

Aang eyes the stage where the performers are chatting and cleaning up their equipment. “That was a great show. Ty Lee and her troupe really know how to entertain.”

Katara agrees. “They were all really great. I think my favorite part was the ornamental firebending.”

Aang smirks. “I’m surprised you didn’t volunteer.”

“Hey, I didn’t want to volunteer the _first_ time.”

Zuko is lost. He vaguely remembers Katara talking about a bad experience at a Fire Days Festival, but before he can ask Aang has turned his attention toward him. “Can you do anything like that, Zuko? With the elaborate shapes, I mean.”

The memory of ill-formed stars blooms bright in his mind. He shakes his head. “No. just simple shapes. And not even good ones, at that.”

Aang looks disappointed. “That’s too bad. I always wanted to learn that dragon form.”

“Why don’t you ask one of them? I bet they’d be honored to teach you anything you want to know.”

Aang’s eyes go wide. “Great idea, Zuko! I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

With that he jogs over to the stage and the performers greet him with enthusiasm. Katara and Zuko watch as they excitedly discuss stances and forms. Within minutes Aang is producing a tiny version of the dragon that they saw earlier.

A stab of jealousy lances through him, but he immediately feels ashamed. He almost dismisses it until Katara grumbles good-naturedly next to him. “Show off.”

“What?”

“Nothing. He’s just always been such a quick study. It used to drive me crazy when we were younger that he could just pick things up like that.”

Zuko smiles. “I grew up in the shadow of a prodigy. I can relate.” Unbidden, an idea forms in his mind and he jumps on it before he can think it through. He waves dismissively at the scene and turns to her. “Anyway, that’s nothing. You want to see _my_ dragon?”

Katara’s eyes flick downward. “I’ve seen it, Zuko, but thanks anyway.”

Heat rushes to his unscarred cheek. “What? No! I meant Druk. Would you like to meet him? I don’t think you’ve ever been properly introduced.”

“He’s still here?”

He tries to act nonchalant, but he secretly loves the excitement in her eyes. “Sure. He usually hangs out in the gardens on the other side of the palace near the royal suites.”

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go see this dragon of yours.”

On impulse he offers his arm and together they start off in the opposite direction of the crowds. The music and conversation fades behind them as they wind their way through the cobblestone paths that lead to where Druk sleeps. Servants who pass bob in their wake and eventually they make it to an open courtyard where the massive dragon is coiled on the grass. In the moonlight his scales shimmer deep crimson with the rise and fall of his ribs. The smallest spark of pride flares in his chest as she takes in the sight of him.

Katara’s feet slow as they approach. “It looks like he’s asleep. We probably shouldn’t bother him.”

“He won’t mind. Trust me.”

The truth is that he _might_ mind; the dragon is a bit like his companion about being woken up early. But it’s worth the risk. Zuko lets go of her arm and strides toward Druk. When he is only ten feet away the dragon’s nostrils flare and his golden eyes click open, pupils narrowing into slits. He sighs dual plumes of smoke.

“Sorry to wake you, old friend. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Katara? You can come closer, he won’t bite.”

Her steps are sure but her voice is shaky. She laughs nervously. “You sure about that?”

When she is close enough he proceeds with the formal introductions. “Druk, this is Katara, Master Waterbender, hero of the Hundred Year War, and wife of Avatar Aang.”

She bows low. “A pleasure to meet you Druk. Though the Fire Lord here forgot to include one of my most important titles.”

He searches his brain but nothing comes. “Oh? What did I miss?”

She speaks directly to the dragon as it eyes her impassively. “I’m one of Zuko’s best friends. We’ve known each other for more than half of our lives.”

The way she says it makes him sway a little on his feet. He hadn’t really thought of it quite that way before; it had occurred to him on many occasions that their admittedly complicated relationship had considerable depth, but he had never stopped to consider its breadth. Despite the odds, she – and the other members of Team Avatar – had remained inseparable for so long now that it seemed odd to remember that there was a time before them. Their friendships formed an intricate tapestry, weaving in and out among one another, threads tangled together until it would be impossible to tease them apart. But the threads between Katara and Zuko certainly formed some of the most complex and intense patterns of them all.

Lost in thought, Zuko doesn’t know how to respond, but Druk does. He blinks slowly and his massive tail snakes behind them and thumps the stones. Katara startles when it slides along the ground and makes contact with the back of their legs, effectively pushing them both toward the hulking animal.

“Oh! Um…”

“It’s okay. He’s just inviting you to touch him.”

She stumbles forward at the dragon’s insistence until she is right up close, and with only the barest hesitation she reaches out and lays her hand flat against the smooth scales that line his neck. Zuko observes the wonder in her features and joins her. Druk rumbles low in his throat, expressing his pleasure.

“He’s really amazing, Zuko. I think your people think so too. That was quite an entrance you made together this morning.”

Zuko shrugs. “It was my Uncle’s idea. It might have been overkill, but given the choice I’d rather ride Druk than in a palanquin any day.”

Katara smiles. “You always did hate all that.”

He sighs. “All part of the job, for better or worse. It’s nice having Druk around. If I ever just want to get away for a moment he and I go for quick rides around the island. It helps clear my head.” Druk snorts and his tail comes up to nudge Zuko’s shoulder. He gently pushes it away. “Not now. Thanks though, buddy.”

“What does he want?”

“I think he keeps hearing me say ‘ride’ and assumes that’s what we’re here for.”

Katara bites her lip. “I don’t suppose we… I mean…”

He can feel that this is a terrible idea, deep down in his bones. But he was never able to refuse her in his youth and he finds that he cannot do it now, either. “You want to?”

She tries to take it back. “Unless you think we should be getting back. I mean, Aang’s probably just about mastered ornamental firebending by now.”

Whether it’s the comfortable feeling of being around her or the alcohol burning through his brain, for some reason this comment firms his resolve. “Come on. I think we can spare a few minutes. They’ll never miss us.”

He leaps up onto Druk’s neck and finds his balance. Once he’s in place he takes Katara’s hand and pulls her up effortlessly. She settles in front of him, trying to keep a proper distance between them, but it doesn’t last. As soon as Zuko tugs twice on the reigns Druk rises to his feet and she slides flush against him. He instinctively steadies her with an arm around her waist. She shifts a little and gives him a look over her shoulder.

“Is this safe?”

He quirks a brow at her. “We’re riding a fire-breathing dragon with no saddle. So, no.”

“Way to make a girl feel better, Zuko.”

He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he pulls her tighter and leans close to her ear. “It’s not about safe, it’s about excitement. The Katara I knew constantly pushed me out of my comfort zone. Now it’s my turn.” With a tug on the reins Druks leathery wings unfold and Katara grips his arm around her waist for dear life. He leans in once more. “I’ve got you.”

“Promise?”

“Always. You ready?”

She takes a deep breath. “Ready.”

He shouts a command and they are off.

The palace spirals away from them and Zuko can feel the pull on his stomach as Druk executes a tight steep curve. Katara shouts as Druk barrels to the left, but by the time they even out high above the palace she is laughing. When they are outside the caldera he leans her forward and taps Druk with his heels; the dragon responds instantly and they shoot forward, speeding toward the mountainside and then bounding back up again. Katara whoops and Zuko smirks as he holds her tight while Druk executes a tight roll. Katara screams this time, equal parts fright and delight. It’s certainly not the entire catalogue of Druk’s tricks, but the rice wine in his stomach suggests he might want to save those for another time. He gently adjusts the reins, bringing Druk to a comfortable altitude and he spreads his wings into a coast.

From this distance the capital glows softly from the lights of the festival still in full swing, as though the dormant volcano has finally come to life. All around the land is shrouded in darkness, and a bright fat moon reflects off of the surrounding sea. The wind teases its fingers through their hair as they sail above it all.

Katara breaths deeply of the fresh sea air. “Wow. It’s so beautiful.”

Zuko watches her face as she marvels at the view. “Yes. Very beautiful.” He tears his gaze away and focuses on the horizon. “But that should be no surprise. You’re no stranger to flying.”

“No, but this is… different, somehow. I can’t explain it.”

A resounding boom startles them both and Druk instinctively careens away. An instant later the sky above the capital sparkles with a shower of red and yellow crackling fireworks. Hints of color reflect in the waters of the harbor. He thinks he hears the soft whisper of people cheering from a distance, but it could just be the sounds of the wind and the sea. Zuko lays a soothing hand on Druk’s neck and they coast comfortably once again as more fireworks follow.

Zuko smiles wistfully as he watches the display, the woman in his arms warm and solid. “This must have been Uncle’s last surprise.”

Katara glances back at him. “Do you think we should go back?”

He knows that they should; his Uncle and the rest of them are probably looking for them by now. But he can’t seem to give Druk the command. “If we leave now we’ll just miss the show, and right now we have the best seats in the house. We’ll go back as soon as it’s over.”

“I like the way you think.” She surprises him by twisting to press a quick, chaste kiss to his scarred cheek before turning back and snuggling against him. “Happy birthday, Zuko.”

He wants to hold this moment forever, and his heart breaks a little knowing that he can’t. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head and then settles his chin there, eyes fixed on the spectacle in front of them. “Thank you, Katara.”

Fifteen minutes later they are landing back in the courtyard, the air heavy with the smell of gunpowder and smoke. Zuko helps Katara dismount from Druk. The dragon turns around in place once before coiling back on the grass and closing his eyes.

Katara gives him one last pat. “Thank you Druk. That was incredible.” The dragon groans and flexes his claws and then falls silent.

Zuko offers her his arm once more. “I suppose we should be heading back. Shall we?”

She tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Yes. Do you think anyone missed us?”

Zuko has no chance to answer, as in that moment Aang appears before him in a blur of orange in yellow. When he comes to a stop his face is a mixture of panic and relief. Katara pulls away from Zuko and steps toward her husband, who lays a hand on her shoulder. His gray eyes dart between them. “Katara! Zuko! I’m so glad I found you!”

Father down the path he can see Toph, Sokka, and Suki jogging toward them, accompanied by a few of his palace guards. Something cold and bitter worms its way into the pit of Zuko’s stomach.

“I’m sorry, Aang. Zuko and I were just with Druk. We didn’t mean to worry anyone – “

“It’s not that.” Aang looks him in the eye and takes a deep breath. “Zuko, something happened.”

The cold feeling in his gut spreads to his blood and sobers him. Zuko’s spine goes stiff and his head snaps around. “Where’s Izumi? Where’s my _wife?”_

As the assembled crowd looks at one another the dread builds. Mai hadn’t been feeling well all day. What is something went wrong? What if –

But then she appears from the direction of the palace. Her hair is loose and an over robe is belted hastily around her waist. Her arm is around Izumi’s shoulders. Zuko would feel relieved if it weren’t for the haunted look on his wife’s face and the tears that Izumi is valiantly trying to wipe away.

Toph, Sokka, and Suki catch up and join the group. The guards hang back as if waiting for orders. Every face he sees is somber and watching him carefully. Suddenly he doesn’t want to know what’s happened, because what should it matter? Everyone who is important to him is here and safe, everyone he loves and holds dear, except – _except –_

Aang’s hands fall heavy on his shoulders. “Zuko. I’m _so_ sorry. Your uncle is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought you hated me at the end of the last chapter...


	7. Cobalt Blue / Vigil - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the Cobalt Blue/Vigil arc, and the final chapter of this story.

Zuko’s world tilts on its axis. Gravity weighs heavy on his shoulders and he has to struggle just to keep his knees from buckling. The air seems thinner and thinner, and surely Aang must have misspoken, surely he must had misheard.

He swallows thickly. “No. That’s impossible. He was fine.”

Concern etches Aang’s face. “I’m so sorry, Zuko. I wish it weren’t true.”

Zuko backs out of his grasp. “You don’t understand. He was perfectly healthy. Suki, you saw him no more than two hours ago. Tell them.”

Suki stays silent, her eyes dropping to the ground as her lip trembles. Sokka puts an arm around her and gives Zuko a pained look. “We were there when it happened, Zuko. He just started rubbing his arm while we were watching the fireworks and he seemed to be short of breath. He asked for some tea, but a few minutes afterward he just collapsed.”

_“Collapsed?”_ He tries to picture the scene, but it won’t form. The reality of it is too painful, too much. Instead horrible images crowd his mind, of assassins and poisons and conspiracy. Because what else could it be? His Uncle wouldn’t just _die,_ he was the Dragon of the West, untouchable, he was _supposed_ to live forever - “Find who did this!” His voice is too loud, too grating in his own ears, but he forges ahead. He would find who was responsible, and they would _pay._ The commands spill out, quick and frantic. “Now! Full lock down! No one leaves, everyone is questioned. Complete detainment until – “

“Zuko.” Mai’s voice is quiet, her face a stern mask. “Stop. Please. You’re frightening everyone.” For the first time he notices the way his daughter cowers under his gaze, clinging to her mother’s side. Under any other circumstance he would be ashamed, but in this moment all he feels is an expanding emptiness that is slowly filling with anger.

“And why shouldn’t they be frightened? Our family – _all_ of our families are in danger! If they can get to Uncle, they can get to all of us! You know how s – “ his voice starts to crack, and his throat starts to close. He swallows hard, tries again. “You know how strong he is. He wouldn’t just _collapse_. He was _fine!”_ Desperation curves his words, though he isn’t sure who he is pleading with.

A hand settles gently on his shoulder. “Zuko, it sounds like he might have had a heart attack. He was very strong, but he wasn’t a young man anymore. I know you must be hurting, but let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet.” Katara’s voice is a calming balm, anchoring him back to reason, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the torrent inside him. Rage builds inside him and explodes.

_“How can you say that?”_ He slaps her hand away. Too late he sees that her eyes are already red-rimmed and tears streak her face. But he has no room for her sorrow, or anyone else’s. He rips his eyes away from her and scans the crowd. “Did any of you even try to save him? Did any of you even care?”

The crowd collectively cringes. Sokka is brave enough to speak up. “We all cared about him. You know that. We tried to revive him, but there was nothing we could do. There weren’t any physicians nearby, but I don’t think – “

“Physicians…” The realization slams into him and everything inside him becomes very still. Someone _was_ to blame for all this. He closes his eyes and feels his nails dig into the soft flesh of his palms. “If there had been a healer there, would he still be alive?”

The silence is too long, too telling. Aang clears his throat. “It’s impossible to know for sure. Probably not.”

Probably not. _Probably_ not. Probably probably probably maybe maybe _yesyesyesyes_ –

He’s moving before he even registers it, backpedaling away from the crowd and turning to sprint back the way he came. Distantly he can hear people calling his name but he doesn’t bother to respond as he flings a leg over Druk’s head and digs his heels into the dragon’s neck. The ground falls away from him and for the first time since riding Druk he feels that he might actually be sick. He swallows down the bile that threatens to bubble up and leans in close, urging Druk on. They easily clear the lip of the caldera and shoot past the rocky terrain to the northwest. Faster, _faster_ , as though he can outrun this feeling, as though he can escape to a place where this night never happened and his Uncle is alive. The sea opens up in front of him, the moonlight glancing off of the waves looking razor sharp.

For a while he indulges in this fantasy, focusing only on the cold salt breeze whipping against his skin and the fire burning in his chest. However, it isn’t long before the small, rational part of himself that is still functioning reminds him that such a place doesn’t exist, that Druk can’t keep this pace forever, that he’ll have to face all of this sooner or later. But the idea of it – of facing a world where Uncle isn’t goading him into some silly scheme or another, or advising him on conflicts between his petty council members, or sending his daughter boxes of the rock candy she so adores – is unfathomable. Something akin to hysteria creeps in as he can almost hear his Uncle’s voice – _compromise is the key to successful leadership, nephew_ – and he decides that a compromise was just what he needed. He would deal with this. He would figure it out. Just not yet. He might not be able to get away from the truth, but he could _get away_.

He tugs the reins and Druk loops and twists, directing them back in the direction of the capital. Another tug angles them east. Though he had no destination in mind before, he knows now just where he can lay low until he can sort all of this out.

The beach house is dark when he arrives, just as he had hoped. During the off-season the live-in staff moves out, returning only on a bi-weekly basis for maintenance. From the air it takes on an eerie, empty quality, which suits his current mood just fine. Zuko barely has enough time to stumble off of Druk and onto the soft sands of the beach before the dragon flaps his wings and heads for the hills behind the house. Zuko has no doubt that he’s exhausted from the flight and is on the hunt for a place to finally catch some uninterrupted sleep.

Zuko feels like he can relate, though his exhaustion is emotional and he isn’t sure he could actually sleep if he tried. During the flight he has mastered a fragile, careful sort of calm. His mind feels crowded, but in a strange, contained sort of way. He thinks of the parade earlier that day; his thoughts were like the crowds of spectators, hovering at the periphery of his brain and all shouting at once. Every once in a while a voice comes through loud and clear, but it is quickly swallowed up in the din, like static punctuated by brief bursts of meaningful phrases. It’s too much effort to try to organize it all, too frightening to look too closely at the words themselves. He briefly wonders if this is what madness feels like, if this is what his sister struggled with, but soon enough this thought is lost with all the rest.

Maybe he really should try to get some sleep. Everything would make more sense in the morning, over a nice cup of t –

_Tea._

His knees wobble beneath him and he barely feels it when they collide with the sand.

_A nice cup of tea. Ginseng? Or jasmine, perhaps? Or even oolong? Which was his favorite these days? Was it the gray cups with white trim or the white cups with gray trim? The ones with gray and white stripes?_

Hollow laughter bursts out of his mouth.

Then the crowded thoughts that were so neatly contained break free, surging forward in an attempt to smother him.

_I don’t need any calming tea –_

_I’m so lucky to have such an understanding nephew –_

_You’re a lazy, mistrustful, shallow old man -_

_Who are you and what do you want -_

_We could have returned together –_

_I was never angry with you –_

_I’m so sorry and ashamed of what I did –_

_It has to be you, Zuko –_

_Thank you for everything –_

_My greatest wish is for your happiness –_

_I think of you as my own –_

_I think of you as my own –_

_My own -_

Somewhere along the line the laughter dissolves into tears and Zuko finds himself wracked with great, heaving sobs, choking on the memory of him, grasping at great handfuls of sand that only slip through his fingers the harder he tries to hold on.

Stupid. He was so _stupid_ , and _selfish_ , and Katara had been right all along, he was self-absorbed and entitled and he had never taken the time to be truly grateful for everything his uncle had done, for the sacrifices he had made and the countless times he had forgiven him for his mistakes and gently guided him kicking and screaming into doing what was right. Today was just a culmination, a perfect little capsule of just how petty he could be. His Uncle had worked so hard to make Zuko happy but he was too wrapped up in his own trivial drama to _really_ appreciate it, to marvel at the time and expense such an effort must have cost. If only he had been there, then Katara would have been there too, and maybe –

It was all his fault.

That was the crux of it. A deep, wounding shame rips into him, crushing his lungs and tearing into his heart. If he had been there, maybe he could have saved him. He should have made different choices. Better choices. But he hadn’t. He had wanted to pin the blame on someone, but the truth was that all fingers pointed to him. Even at forty years old he was still bumbling through life, and when it really mattered all he could be counted on to do was to screw things up. Only now his Uncle wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces of the destruction he left in his wake. Not now. Not ever again.

Anger boils inside of him, and he can feel his skin burn with rage. For the briefest moment he wishes he could set the whole world on fire. But there’s no one to be angry with, no one to take his rage out on except himself. His hands close around sand and he flings it toward the sea, a guttural sound bursting out of him. It doesn’t change anything, but it is satisfying in a way that he can’t quite explain. He does it again. And again and again, until he is digging deep, flinging sand everywhere, first dry handfuls and then wet clumps underneath. An odd part of his brain reasons that perhaps he could just keep going, tunnel to Ba Sing Se and live out the rest of his days as Lee the refugee until a stray grain of sand finds its way into his eye.

“Dammit!”

Fire flares in his fist and he sweeps it across the wet sand where it fizzles pointlessly. His eye waters and burns but he doesn’t stop; he gets to his feet and flings fire at the sea, gaining satisfaction from the thick clouds of steam that rise in its wake. His breath is coming in thick pants but it feels good to move, good to burn away the feeling inside of him.

He’s making so much noise that he almost doesn’t hear the groan of the flying bison that lands a short distance away on the beach.

Almost.

He turns, eyes wild, and there she is, the woman of his sweetest dreams and deepest despair. Even from this distance her eyes look hollow and anger rises up in him again to think that it is his fault that she looks so tired and sad, and that she isn’t the only one. There’s more than a few people at the palace that he is sure share her expression, who are suffering because of his mistakes. And even still, here she is to comfort and coddle him. But he doesn’t _deserve_ it. He has failed each and every one of them, his Uncle most of all. Katara is living proof of his failures in more ways than one as she stands looking defeated on the beach. He can’t stand to be reminded of it, not now.

He keeps his voice even, though all he wants to do is shout. “You shouldn’t be here, Katara. Go back to the capital.”

She starts to jog toward him but he raises a palm full of fire. She stops, puts up her hands. “Zuko, I know you’re upset. We’re all worried about you. Please, get Druk and come back home.”

There it is. That undeserved compassion. He can’t control the growl in his voice. “Get out of here. _Now_.”

She winces. “I know you’re angry. But if you won’t come back, can we at least talk?”

He rounds on her. “My Uncle is _dead!_ What else is there to talk about?”

Her expression starts to crumble. “I’m so sorry Zuko – “

“Enough!” The fire in his hands flares and he sweeps it in front of him, causing her to jump back. From behind her Appa takes to the air. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want your apologies or your condolences! Just leave me _alone!”_

She takes a step back, but then her brow furrows and her spine straightens. “No. I never turn my back on people who need me. You want to fight me? Fine. But I’m not leaving you. Not until you hear me out.”

He slides into an offensive stance. A distant part of him is reminded of the last time they were here – _you came for a challenge?_ – and a humorless smile works its way onto his face. “Come and get it.”

He fires a few quick blasts in her direction, but Katara blocks easily, drawing water directly from the tides. She turns it back on him immediately, catching him off guard and striking him in the chest. He lands hard on his tailbone but pops back up, sweeping a leg trailing fire at her ankles. She is ready for him. She creates an ice ramp and launches into the air just before the flames reach her. The ice shatters at her feet as she leaps backward. He transitions to one knee and sends a jet of flame directly at her torso, which she narrowly avoids. When she lands the sleeve of her blue robe is trailing smoke. She barely gives it a second glance before pulling a thick rope of water around her, readying her defense.

He fights her for every inch. He can tell she is trying to maneuver closer to the water, but he won’t fall for that trick again. Instead, he drives her farther up the beach, forcing her closer and closer to the house. He’s not holding back this time but neither is she. More than one of her ice darts makes it past his defenses and slices through his robes at his shin and shoulder. He doesn’t even feel it. He strikes at her again and again, muscles tense and burning under his skin. A distant part of him whispers that she is not the enemy, that taking this out on her is wrong, but the idea of stopping is so much worse. If she knew what was good for her she would just leave, abandon him like everyone else.

The second time she knocks him down he feels it. He doesn’t get up right away, fatigue settling in his muscles and crying out now that he is still. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings and notices that they have made it halfway up the gravel road to the beach house. Katara ceases her assault but doesn’t drop her water.

“We don’t have to do this. Please, just let me talk to you.”

He’s so tired all of a sudden, and part of him wishes that he could just lie down right here and sleep. But the longer he sits the more he remembers exactly why he is here in the first place. Fear and pain and rage spur his muscles into movement, propelling him to his feet.

“No. We don’t have to. I _want_ to.”

Disappointment flits across her face but her body signals its resolve as she readies for his next assault.

He attacks with renewed purpose, his focus narrowed to the fire in his limbs. She counters him smoothly, but her water supply is dwindling with each attack. She dodges another blast and yells. “Listen to me! I know why you’re angry!”

“You don’t know _anything!”_ Fatigue is burning in his limbs and his punches are becoming wilder, his precision waning. He may have maneuvered her away from the water but she still has the advantage – the moon is nearly full and she hasn’t expended half of the energy he has all day.

She whips a stream of water at him, trying for his ankles, but he knows this trick, leaps to avoid it. She tries again. “Yes I do! I know you’re hurt and angry – “

“Don’t tell me how I feel!” He whips fire right back at her, and the two streams clash and sizzle. A stray thought pops into his head – _I thought you had changed_ – but he wills it away.

She cracks the whip at him once more, then spins, gathering more water from the air. “Would you just listen? I just want to say that I know you’re angry with me, but please just let me say I’m sorry – “

“I told you I don’t want your condolences!” He kicks fire at her, gaining ground. She raises a wave of water to deflect but the transition into an offensive move is too slow. He sees the opening, takes it. He swings back, starts to throw a flaming punch at her chest –

“I’m sorry because this is all my fault!”

_Wait. What?_

He stops mid-swing, completely thrown off guard. But she doesn’t. A wave of water hits him square in the face and he topples over, temple smacking against the gravel. He gives a low groan as the world fades to black.

When he comes to he’s lying on his back, his eyes blinking wearily up at the stars. Disorientation reigns for a moment as he tries to catalogue various sensations: his body aches, his ears are ringing, he can smell smoke. Where was he? Gravel shifts beneath him as he rolls over, catches the sight of the sea. A few feet from him his crown lies in the dirt, gleaming dully in the starlight.

Just as well, he thinks. Let someone else have it. He can’t do the job anymore, anyway. Not without Uncle.

_Uncle._

It all comes rushing back to him – his Uncle’s death, the escape from the capitol, the fight with Katara – Wait. Where was Katara?

With effort he sits up and glances around, wincing at the pain in his head. Despite his earlier protests, he is relieved to see that she is still here – but then is horrified when he sees what she is doing. Katara is positioned in the shadow of the beach house, directing a stream of water along one end of the roof. It hisses as it makes contact with the flames that are crackling merrily along the tiles. Smoke curls up from the copse of trees alongside the house. His Uncle’s voice rings loud and clear – _you never think these things through._

This is yet another thing he has ruined with his impulsiveness. Another thing he has destroyed. If the list weren’t so long already, he might feel awful. As it is, the guilt just adds to an already unbearable burden.

Katara spots him just as she is putting out the last of the fires. She rushes to his side, water at the ready. “Zuko! Thank the spirits!” Already her hands are glowing at his temples, soothing the aches in his head as she runs them over his hair. “I never meant to hurt you, I thought you would block and I – “

“Katara, stop. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You hit your head really hard and – “ Her lip starts to tremble. “This is all my fault!”

He has a weird detached sense of calm – _that’s something we have in common_ – as he shakes his head. “No, it’s isn’t. It’s mine.”

Tears swell and spill over leaving tracks in the dust on her face, so much like last time it hurts. “Not just the fight. All of it. It was my stupid idea. If we hadn’t left the party we would have been there, and maybe I could have saved him, I could have at least tried, and I know you’re angry with me for it and I understand, but I just want you to know how sorry I am…“ She dissolves into quiet sobs.

Zuko blinks. She has caught him off guard yet again. How could she think…? He pulls her to him and holds her tight, her arms coming up around him as she cries into his shoulder. He strokes her hair. “Don’t say that. I never blamed you. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” His words echo back and then it hits him: neither could he. It didn’t change what happened and it doesn’t quite ease the regret, but the truth is that no one could have predicted it. His voice is touched with awe and relief at the realization: “It’s nobody’s fault.”

She pulls back and searches his face. “Do you mean it?” He nods and her body sags in relief. “Oh thank Yue. As soon as you ran off I knew I had to come after you. But Appa isn’t as fast as Druk.” She searches his face. “I mean it though, Zuko. I wish I would have been there. What if I could have done something? What if – “

He pulls her back as her face starts to crumble and his own throat burns. “I know.”

They tremble in each other’s arms, raw grief threatening to shake them apart. He can’t be sure how much time has passed when they finally pull apart, but he thinks he can see just the barest hints of light on the eastern horizon. She smiles at him, eyes puffy and red, and he does his best to smile back.

“Thank you for coming here. I thought I wanted to be alone, but I was wrong.” His eyes fall to the side. “And I’m sorry I fought you. I don’t know what came over me.”

She reaches out and covers his hand with her own. “Zuko, your father had just died. I think you’re allowed to go a little crazy.”

His father. Though he had never used the term out loud himself, she was right to use it. The fact that she knew to use it in the first place makes him love her all the more, until the current reality washes over him again: his father – not by blood but by bond – was dead. His heart aches with the weight of it. He hangs his head. “He did his best to teach me self-control. The minute he’s gone I lose it completely.”

“Grief affects us all differently. You needed to get away. I should have given you some space. It was selfish of me to chase after you.”

“No it wasn’t. That’s just who you are. And I’m glad you did.”

She bites her lip. “Do you think you’re ready to go back? I know that people are worried. When I left Aang was helping to coordinate things in your absence and Mai was comforting Izumi, but they can’t replace you.”

At the mention of his daughter he almost acquiesces, but then he thinks of what going home will entail. At the moment he feels contained, but he isn’t sure how long it will last faced with grieving friends and family and the details of mourning. He shakes his head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“I understand.”

The solemnity of her eyes comforts him. While he wasn’t ready to return to the palace just yet, he wasn’t ready to be alone again, either. He weighs the consequences of his next question carefully, considering the ramifications. He asks it anyway. “Will you – will you stay here with me? Just for a little while. I know it’s a lot to ask, especially after everything that’s happened, but…”

Unlike him, there is no hesitation in her voice. “Of course.” She seems to consider something. “I’ll go into town tomorrow and send hawks to let everyone know we’re okay. In the meantime though, you should probably get some rest. We both should.”

He helps her to her feet, and they both turn to look at the beach house. Though the roof is no longer smoldering, there are thick black scorch marks that stand out starkly even in the dark.

“Do you think it’s safe to stay in there?”

He eyes the damage and shakes his head. “With my luck, the house will come crashing down around us as we sleep.”

“Are there any inns in town where we could stay?”

He lifts a dirty, charred sleeve in response. She glances down at her own disheveled appearance and nods once. “Right. Camp tonight, inspect in the morning?”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Okay. There’s some blankets in Appa’s saddle. Thank goodness it’s warm out tonight.”

As she calls Appa with the bison whistle his heart expands for her, watching her shift seamlessly from concerned to pragmatic. He knew she was hurting too, but she still knew exactly what needed to be done and carried it out flawlessly. She was always stronger than he was. Even in his grief he can’t help but marvel at her. When she hands him a blanket she catches the look on his face and she gives him a knowing smile.

Deciding that sand is softer than volcanic rock, they carry the blankets down to the beach. By the time they lie down Zuko can barely keep his eyes open despite the fact that dawn isn’t far off. Katara curls up on her side next to him as he lies on his back and blinks heavy eyelids at the stars.

Just as he is drifting off Katara rolls over and grabs his hand, pulling him on his side and wrapping his arm around her waist. He curls up behind her and tries not to feel guilty about how right it feels.

“Just for tonight,” she mumbles, and he isn’t sure if she’s talking to him or herself. Sleep takes him before he can give it any thought.

By the time Zuko wakes the sun is already creeping toward its zenith. He can hear the sound of the waves and gulls, and he is sweating underneath a thick blanket. For a moment he is utterly disoriented. He opens his eyes and sits up, his joints creaking and stiff. As soon as he takes in the scorch marks on the beach and the sight of the waterbender lying next to him, it all comes back to him at once.

His Uncle is dead.

The thought is an odd, disembodied thing – real but not real, a fact as simple and emotionless as a statement about the weather. It doesn’t conjure up the rage it had the previous night, or the intense sadness. Instead there is just an ache in his chest and a heaviness in his limbs that has nothing to do with the bending battle. He wonders if every day will be like this: an instant of blissful forgetfulness followed by plummeting truth. He knows he should get up, find something to do, but he stays and watches the push and pull of the sea. He thinks life might be easier if he could just stay here forever.

Before long Katara stirs. She does a perfunctory rinse using the ocean water and checks him again for injuries. When she takes Appa to town he remains on the beach, listless and empty. He is still there when she returns an hour later. Appa lands softly on the sand and she hops off from the space between his horns and her boots splash in the ebb of the tides. She kneels down next to him and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better... Not good. I don’t really know.”

She nods. “I sent the messages to the palace. I also bought some food. Are you hungry?”

He should be. The last real meal he had eaten was at the lunch banquet his Uncle had prepared the day before – _was that only yesterday don’t think about it don’t_ – with a few snacks in between. He shakes his head.

“Okay. But you should try to eat something in a little bit anyway. Should we at least go survey the damage to the beach house? Sleeping in a real bed tonight might help.”

He nods. She leads him to Appa, who gives them a lift to the front of the house. He helps her unload the baskets of food from the saddle, and then Appa flies off to graze. She gives him a weak smile. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks.”

They leave the food in the entry way and walk the hallways. Surprisingly, it _isn’t_ as bad as it looks. The east wing has suffered some smoke damage and the royal suite has a new skylight, but outside of that the damage is mostly superficial. The bottom floor is untouched. Deciding that the house would not collapse around them, they settle in.

Zuko lights the fire in the oven and Katara sets about making them some lunch. His body is on autopilot as he goes through the motions of chewing and swallowing the meal she makes, not tasting any of it. He thinks that maybe he can get through this, one bite and one step and one day at a time. It’s when she offers him some tea that the fragile shell breaks, and she holds him while he cries, her arms the only thing keeping him from cracking and falling apart.

It’s like that, for the first two days. She’s a constant presence but not a smothering one. She materializes at his side when he starts to shatter and looms in the background when he is calm. She holds herself together better than he does, but more than once he returns the favor when he discovers her crumpled against a wall, silently weeping. But most of their time is spent in banal trivialities. They make meals, wash dishes, drink solemn glasses of rice wine at dusk. She finds the scrolls in the office; he has since organized and expanded on the collection so there’s no chance of her picking a salacious scroll by mistake. She spends afternoons reading novels or practicing her bending in the courtyard while he watches. She tries to encourage him to spar with her, but he doesn’t trust himself. At night, she says nothing when he drags his blankets and pillow into her room and sleeps on the floor beside her bed.

It’s a strange, artificial routine, but not one without its appeal. In the lulls between intense waves of sadness there’s the peculiar feeling that perhaps he could stop time here and avoid the reality of his life forever. He’s coherent enough to recognize the absurdity of such an idea, and what feelings he can spare aside from his grief are reserved for missing his wife and daughter, but he still can’t bring himself to take Druk and go home.

Because home is more than just his family, it’s responsibilities and duty and protocol. He feels like he has lost his anchor and he is adrift at sea. He has no idea how to face all those things again. Staying here prolonged the inevitable, allowed him to pretend, even for just a moment, that when he returned things would be normal. That Uncle would be just a messenger hawk or zeppelin away. He isn’t ready to accept that he never will be again. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be ready.

On the afternoon of the third day he sits in the shade of the lanai as Katara bends the water in the fountain. His eyes track her movement but he isn’t really watching her, lost inside the cavern of his head. Her bending, the paved stones at her feet, the vines that curl around the wooden posts: all of it holds just as much interest, which is to say none at all. He tests this theory, shifting his attention around the courtyard, until something actually does catch his eye.

They had surveyed the damage to the house, but they had forgotten about the surrounding property. From where he sits he can see the charred remains of the treetops past the stone stairs. Without thinking about it, he rises from his chair and walks toward it.

It’s all dense underbrush and overgrown vines; there’s an old path but it’s barely visible for the tall grasses that encroach upon it. He moves in the direction of the wreckage, pushing through as old branches snap under his feet. He can hear movement behind him and assumes that Katara has chosen to follow him. He keeps his pace.

The fire has created an artificial clearing; burnt stumps and scorched limbs form a rough empty circle in the surrounding greenery, a dead spot in the middle of teeming life. The only movement in the area comes from a small stream that runs down from the hill and empties out into the sea. He can hear birdsong but the birds themselves are nowhere in sight.

Zuko kneels down and runs a hand across the ground. His fingers come away covered with soot and ash. Katara catches up to him and kneels down beside him. She watches as he examines his dirty fingers.

“Once,” she says, “Aang and Sokka and I came across a forest that was ruined by fire. Aang was really upset. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told him then: it will grow back.”

He sighs. “It can’t.”

“What?” He realizes that they are having two different conversations, tries to refocus as he rubs his fingers together. “There’s nothing to rise from the ashes. This is all that will be left of my Uncle. As soon as I return home, they’ll burn him.”

She seems shocked, but covers it quickly. “Is that the tradition in the Fire Nation?”

He swallows as he pictures it, his gaze turned inward. “It will be a state funeral. Hundreds of people will be there. My family and I will stand on the dais in the plaza while the sages drone on about the life that he led. They’ll talk about how great he was and they’ll get it all wrong, they’ll miss all the important parts, the things that made him who he was. And then they’ll cremate him to send his spirit home.” He looks at her. “I don’t think I can do it. I’m the Fire Lord, I’m supposed to be a pillar of strength and an example to my people, but I just can’t imagine standing up there and watching him burn without falling apart. But if I do it would be a dishonor to his memory.”

Katara is quiet for a moment, and then says, “Maybe you could say goodbye to him first on your own terms. Would that make it easier?”

Maybe. Maybe not. He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

“I have an idea, if you would be interested.”

He nods, and she stands up and searches the immediate area. A long strip of curved, half-burnt bark catches her attention and she pulls it from the wreckage. She gathers some thick, straight sticks; some she picks up off of the ground and others she breaks off of the dead trees. With her bending she gathers a few vines and uses them to start lashing the branches together. As she works, she speaks.

“In the Water Tribe, when someone passes away we send them back out to sea to be with the ocean spirit. We dress the person in their favorite clothes and arrange them in a special canoe.” Under her practiced hands a tiny water vessel begins to take shape. “We also add some of their favorite possessions. Sentimental things, mostly. People say that it’s so they can have those things with them in the spirit world, but I really think it’s done to help survivors cope with the loss. It helps them remember, and it helps them forget.”

She stops working for a moment and gropes at her throat, but the necklace there is different from the one that used to hang there in her youth. She lowers her hand and keeps working. “My mother’s necklace should have gone with her, but I screamed and cried with my father to let me keep it. It took a long time for me to let her go.” For an instant this is one more reason to hate himself, for separating her from her mother’s necklace for even a short amount of time before she was ready, but then she smiles softly. “You really helped me with that. I don’t think you realize how much.”

Maybe she’s right, but he thinks he does. Or he knows how much it meant to him to help her, at least. On impulse he snatches one of her hands, presses his lips to her knuckles. Even as he does it he realizes that the ritual she suggested may be an exercise in futility; he has never been one to let things go. He clears his throat and nods to the creation in her lap. “Will it still work if I don’t have anything that belonged to Uncle? He hasn’t been to Ember Island in a long time.”

“That’s okay. I bet we can find some things that will represent him. If you want to, that is.” He nods and she smiles. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

Together they scour the beach house, and it’s heartbreaking how easy it is to find little things remind him of his uncle: the straggling peonies growing on the edges of the courtyard, the chipped tea cup in the corner cupboard, a scroll of old proverbs in the study. Even though his Uncle would bemoan an incomplete set, he removes the lotus tile from his pai sho game and adds it to the growing pile of items in Katara’s makeshift boat. With each item he feels his grief stir and awaken, bit by bit, but it feels purposeful this time instead of meandering and endless.

When it is full they take it down to the beach. Before Katara sets it in the water he reaches down and adds a handful of sand.

“What’s that for?”

“We used to play on this beach. We used to come here before Uncle went to war and everything changed.” The memory of Uncle splashing through the surf as he chased him and Lu Ten across the beach flashes bright and clear and suddenly his knees feel weak. He lowers himself to the sand and Katara follows, patient in her silence. “I missed him when he left. He wrote to us, and sent us things, but it wasn’t the same. You remember that dagger that I carried around during the war? He gave that to me.” Part of him wishes that he had it with him now, to send it off with the rest of it, but like so many other things in his life he isn’t sure he could ever really part with it.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and it’s surprising just how easy it is to picture the grand halls of the palace in his youth, the way the gardens smelled in spring. “I thought he would come home after Lu Ten died, but he didn’t, not right away. Then mom left and it was just me and Azula and Ozai. When he finally came back I think we were both a little lost, but we felt better when we found each other again. I didn’t think of it that way at the time, but that’s how it was. We spent a lot of time together. He was good at hiding it, but every now and then I would catch him looking at me with this sad smile… “He opens his eyes and shakes his head. “Anyway, I looked up to him a lot. He wasn’t stern like my father or cruel like my sister. Even though he was renowned as this fierce military mastermind, he was warm, like my mother.”

Katara reaches out and takes his hand. “You were lucky to have each other back then.”

Zuko frowns. “I was, but I didn’t know it. I was mad at him for a while after… after I was banished. I couldn’t understand why he would want to come with me.” He pauses, gathers his courage. “For a while I blamed him for what had happened.” The words taste sour. He has never said them out loud, though he is sure his actions back then spoke loudly enough. Shame squeezes his heart. “I was thirteen and I thought if he had just been more firm with me I wouldn’t have been in that war room in the first place. He should have known I wasn’t ready. But of course it was never his fault.”

Katara shifts and sits next to him, threads an arm around his waist as she leans into his shoulder. His fingers come up and absentmindedly comb through the loose ends of her hair. “He was the only one who ever trusted me to make my own decisions – and my own mistakes. I made a lot of those.” He laughs, short and humorless. “A lot. But he was unconditional. He tried to tell me things, to advise me, but in the end when it really mattered it was always my own choice, my responsibility to do what was right.” His throat closes up and he looks at her; she blurs at the edges of his vision. “But now he’s gone. What will I do without his wisdom? He can’t guide me anymore and I’m lost all over again.”

She reaches up and swipes a thumb at the moisture under his good eye. “He trusted you. Honor him by trusting yourself.”

He shakes his head and his gaze falls to the sand. “I’m half the man he was.”

“You’re right.”

His tears cease and he looks back at her and frowns. “Thanks. I feel so much better.”

But she doesn’t try to defend herself. She looks out at the waves, her expression distant. “Do you remember during the war when we hunted for Yon Rha?”

He is utterly confused. “Of course.”

“Do you remember what you did when we found him?”

He nods. “I backed you up. I was ready in case he tried to hurt you.”

“Yes, but what else?”

He senses that this is a trick question, but for the life of him he can’t fathom what the answer is supposed to be. “Nothing.”

Her gaze returns to him, and he can see the determined look in her eye, the one she gets when she talks about things that matter to her. “Exactly. You let me make my own choice. Even back then you were just like your Uncle, incorporating his lessons without even knowing it. That’s just one example, but all of the things that he was – wise, fiercely protective, strong – you took the best parts of him and mixed them with who you are. He’s a part of you, but you’re also your own man. And I think that’s exactly what he wanted for you.” She blinks back tears. “He was so proud of you.”

Her words surround him with warmth. A profound calm settles over him and he gives her a soft smile. “Thank you for saying so. When did you get so wise?”

She nudges him with her elbow. “You’re not the only one who was a better person for knowing him. Maybe I took a little bit of him for myself too.” She lays a hand on the miniature canoe at her side and takes a deep breath. “You ready?”

“Yeah. I think I am.”

He helps her to her feet. She sets the boat in the water and uses her bending to send it farther out to calm waters where it won’t be disturbed. For a long while they watch it drift farther and farther out to sea. Not taking her eyes off of the little craft, Katara takes his hand. “Do you want to say anything?”

He thinks about it. There’s so many things he could say, so many things he should say. But in the end he decides against it. He shakes his head. “No. I can’t begin to do him justice. All I can say is that I love him and I’ll miss him and I’m a better man for knowing him.” He turns to Katara. “And I’m a better man for knowing you too. Which was his doing, so I guess I have him to thank for that as well.”

She wraps her arms around him and they remain like that for a long time, listening to the sound of the water that carries pieces of his uncle farther and farther away.

That night, when Druk lands in the courtyard of the palace his wife and daughter rush out to meet him. He hugs them hard and feels buoyed by their strength. With their help – and the help of the rest of his friends – he has hope that he can make it through.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Bit by bit, he does. Weeks pass and his friends return to their homes and life returns to something that could almost be called normal, save for the silence inside his heart. More than once he absentmindedly begins a letter to Iroh to ask his advice about this issue or that, only to stare blankly at the characters as his wounds stretch open once more. Sometimes, late at night when his wife is sleeping, he pulls out the old book of proverbs from his nightstand, hoping to find some comfort in the words. It helps, if only a little.

After five months he thinks that he might just be finding his stride again; that Katara was right and he could do this with enough support and trust in himself.

Then one night he is jolted from his sleep by his wife’s screams, the sheets bunched around her waist soaked with blood. Not even a team of physicians can coax the life back into her or his unborn son, and when they deliver the news, ashen faced and fidgeting, his world shatters into so many pieces he is certain he will never be whole again.

He doesn’t run, not like last time, anyway. He doesn’t rage or scream or send his servants running for their lives. Instead, he quietly shuts himself in his room and lets the world spin without him.

Days pass and the only sounds he hears are those of servants knocking on his door to offer him meals, most of which he refuses. As his friends arrive in the capitol to attend the upcoming funeral rites they start to knock too. He ignores them with equal measure. Even his favorite waterbender tries to coax him from his isolation, but she meets with defeat each time. Her voice is a disembodied thing, muffled as it strives to penetrate his consciousness through the thick wood of the door. It’s a bit like being underwater, and the strangled, calm feeling he has as the days pass feels a little bit like drowning.

Numbness pervades his senses. Everything in his days has the volume turned down; the bright red sheets of his bed take on a muted, washed out tone and what little food he eats is flavorless. The pull in his blood and the light coming in from the widow alert him to the rising and falling of the sun, but time drags on without meaning or consequence.

He tries to conjure up a scrap of feeling, to summon the memories he had of his wife and the years they spent together, but the images that play across his mind feel distant and removed as though he is watching someone else’s life and happiness dance before his eyes. He can’t connect to the thoughts, can’t allow that distance to be breached. Part of him feels that he has spent the last feeling that he had on Uncle’s death months ago, but another is terrified that the well goes deeper than he imagined and that he will be sorry if he looks too close. He builds the walls around his heart higher and thicker, just in case.

Despite his efforts there is one sound that breaks through, one that stabs its way past his ribcage with tiny barbs. Sometimes, in the afternoons, Izumi comes to sit outside his door. He can hear her sniffles and the way she shifts against the door. He can picture her there, slumped against the elaborate carvings, no one left to tell her to sit up straight and keep a stiff upper lip. Hairline cracks appear in the impervious wall he has built, but the structural integrity remains intact.

Then one day, it isn’t sniffles and quiets cries. One day, she keens.

Instinct makes him want to sprint toward the door and pull her into his arms, comfort her and keep her close. But he has no energy and his body refuses to obey. He has nothing left to give her. He pulls at his hair and digs deeper into the rumpled sheets of his bed.

Each second that it continues scrapes against his soul. He is rendered powerless against it, paralyzed in the face of such raw need. But then the wailing comes to an abrupt halt. The ensuing silence is almost as loud. Then he hears another sound, a soft and soothing voice.

Katara.

He can hear her talking to the princess, empathizing with her loss. Katara knows what it is like to lose a mother. They all do. He thinks that the world is an unbearably cruel place, for all of them to have known such loss at such an early age. The circumstances were different, but the shape of the hole left behind is the same.

Izumi’s words are punctuated by hiccups. “Why won’t Father come out? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything at all. Your father is just sad.”

“But I’m sad too. Why can’t we be sad together?”

Katara is quiet for a moment, then her voice floats through the wood panels. “I’ll tell you a secret. When my mother died, my father spent long nights out on the ice by himself. We never knew what he did out there, and my brother and I yearned to be with him, but looking back now I think that’s just what he needed. It wasn’t because he didn’t love us or because he didn’t want to be there for us. I think it was just too painful for him to be around others, even his family.”

His daughter’s voice, thick with tears: “So Father hasn’t stopped loving me?”

The shell around his heart splinters and cracks.

“No, sweetie. Your father loves you very much. No matter what happens, you must never forget that.”

Unbidden, he remembers his mother’s last words to him: _no matter how things may change, never forget who you are._ Who was he, anyway? He was Zuko, son of Ozai and Ursa, imperial ruler of the Fire Nation. But that’s not what mattered most. He was also a friend and a husband and a father. Despite all of the chaos and loss, those facts remained. And right now his daughter needed him.

Zuko knew what it was like to lose a father. Izumi didn’t have to feel like she had lost hers too.

With effort he gets out of bed and makes his way to the door. When he opens it he is immediately surrounded by two pairs of arms.

Decades later, when the Avatar dies, Zuko has little opportunity to return the favor, to console his friend and help her to recover from immeasurable loss. It isn’t for lack of trying. He arrives at her home as soon as he can once he hears the news, but he is one in a crowd of many. Katara has always surrounded herself with people who love her, draws them in and keeps them close. She has no shortage of people to calm and care for her, people who know what to do and what to say to ease her pain. He’s never been good at this sort of thing, but when she cries he holds her hand and when she is calm he holds her silence. It’s nowhere near the quality of comfort she has given him in the past, but when her fingers squeeze his he thinks that maybe it’s enough.

The world mourns the Avatar, and so does he, but his focus is on the woman who mourns him the most. He knows what it is to lose a spouse. It’s one more thing they have in common.

******

_Winter – 73 years postwar_

Zuko pulls up the hood on his thick maroon parka, waving his thanks to the woman who had given him a ride to town as she pulls away. He gathers his purchases under one arm and begins the trek through the snow to the modest home perched on the edge of town. His breath clouds up in front of him and he thinks again how he has not missed the bitter cold of the poles. It exacerbates the stiffness in his limbs and burns in his lungs more than any fire ever could. Still, this is where he needed to be, and this is where he would stay.

When he arrives at the house Tenzin greets him and helps him out of his coat. The Avatar’s children take shifts; it must be Tenzin’s turn. From another room he can hear the sound of children playing quietly as they wait for dinner to be served. In the kitchen Kya and Bumi bicker about just the right amount of spices needed to make a perfect pot of sea prunes.

“Any change?”

Tenzin sighs. “No. She’s awake though. You’re welcome to go in and see her.”

Zuko nods. He heads to a room with a curtained door and ducks beneath the fabric panels. The thick pile of furs on the bed is deceptive, hiding the frail body underneath. He approaches and gently touches her forehead. Despite the heavy blankets and the fire cracking merrily in the hearth, Katara’s skin feels cool and clammy.

“Back so soon?”

“Your neighbor from down the road was kind enough to give me a ride.” He fiddles with the blankets around her shoulders and she smacks his hand away playfully, rearranging them to her liking.

“You’ve really got to learn to drive, Zuko.”

“And _you_ really should be resting.”

“That’s all I do anymore is rest. You all fuss too much.”

Both statements are true, in their own way. In the month that he has been here he has watched her steady decline, from days where she was unsteady on her feet to days where she was no longer able to leave her bed. She spends most of her time sleeping, fighting off the inevitable. Most of the losses in Zuko’s life had been sudden, and he had always been left with the feeling that he had been robbed of last words and things left undone. As if to mock him, the spirits had granted him the opportunity to watch the process in slow motion. It is no less painful, and he finds that he still doesn’t know the right words to say or the best things to do. Instead, he fusses along with her children and grandchildren, watching and waiting.

He tries to keep his tone light. “You’re just angry that someone else has taken over your job.”

This earns him a laugh, which dissolves into a dry cough. “You’re probably right about that.”

He crosses the room and picks up a teapot that sits on a small side table, the water in it gone cool. He heats it with his bending, then adds the tea leaves that he bought at the market. When it is ready he pours her a cup and helps her sit up. She takes a sip and wrinkles her nose.

“No offense, but I think your tea-making could still use a little work.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not supposed to taste good. It’s medicine. Uncle used to give this to me when I was sick. He said that it helped with fevers.”

She gives him a sad smile. “That’s thoughtful of you. But you know it can’t be helped.”

He frowns at her. “I might not be able to stop it, but I can at least help you feel better.”

She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. “Having you here is more than I could ask.”

“It’s not nearly enough.” He studies the carpet. “Are you sure you can’t heal it?”

She takes her hand back, sips her tea. “We’ve been over this. There’s no cure for old age, Zuko. “

His voice is quiet. “I know.” He takes the empty cup from her, switches to a more conversational tone. “Are you hungry? I think the kids are making your favorite.”

“How can I refuse?” She eases herself back down onto the bed. She smirks at him. “Let’s hope their sea prunes taste better than your tea.”

The family brings in the meal and they all sit around her to eat. He watches her carefully; she picks at her food more than eating it, despite the praise she gives her children for finding just the right flavor balance. When the meal is finished the children and grandchildren kiss her goodnight and Zuko tucks the blankets around her once more.

“You have the night shift again?”

“Yes. It’s what I wanted.” It’s true. The events of his life have made him a light sleeper. He knows that even the slightest change will awaken him should she need anything.

She eyes the sleeping pallet on the side of the room. “How long are you going to sleep on that uncomfortable thing?”

_For as long as I need to,_ he thinks. But instead he says, “It’s not that bad. I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Sure, back when you were sixteen. You could use a night in a real bed for once. Go on. One night won’t hurt anything.”

It might, or it might not. Either way, he’s not willing to take the risk. “Now who’s fussing?”

“Can’t help it.” Her smile turns serious. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

“That’s not saying much.”

He levels his gaze at her. “You know what I mean.”

Even now, her eyes spark. “Do I?”

He sighs. “If you mean am I okay sleeping here, than yes. If you mean am I okay with… the rest of it, then…” He has no answer for this. He is far from okay with it. He cannot imagine a universe in which he would be okay with it. But the universe has rarely had any consideration for his wishes. “Then you’ll just have to ask me when you wake up tomorrow.”

“Zuko…”

He musters his most gentle but authoritative voice, bending down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I mean it. Get some sleep. Wake me if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodnight, Zuko.”

He shuffles to the other side of the room and slowly swings his legs into his makeshift bed. He waves his hand and douses the light, knowing that he is in for another long night. Four days later in the hours before dawn he hears her gasp. He shoots out of bed, the blankets falling at a heap on the floor. She is grasping her chest and grimacing in pain. Long strands of gray hair stick to her forehead with sweat. He thought when it finally happened he would be ready. He was wrong. His skin goes cold in terror as he rushes to her side.

“Katara? What’s wrong? I’ll go get Tenzin – “

“No.” Her face relaxes a little and she seems to catch her breath. “Zuko, listen to me. I have a favor to ask.”

He doesn’t want to know. His voice is tentative. “What do you need?”

“Promise you’ll help me.”

Even after all these years he still can’t refuse her. He sighs resignedly. “Whatever you want.”

“Take me outside. Take me to the sea.”

Of all the things she could have asked of him, he would have never guessed this. Immediately he balks. “Are you crazy? It’s freezing! You’ll d –“

“Please.” Her gaze is direct and pleading. She places her hand over his, the skin paper-thin and hot. “Take me to the water.”

He searches her eyes for just a moment and deep down, he _knows_. “Okay.” He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

He quickly finds her coat and gloves. As he fastens the clasps on her parka it occurs to him that he might not be able to fulfill her request; he is not a young man anymore and his back is already screaming in protest from sleeping on the uncomfortable pallet. But he has to try. To his surprise and dismay she is bird-bone light and fragile in her cocoon of furs when he lifts her off the bed. She wraps weak arms around his neck and settles her cheek against his chest.

They manage to make it out of the house without waking the others. At this hour the tundra is eerily silent. He feels like a smuggler. She gives him soft encouragement him as he wades through snow drifts, slowly but steadily approaching the sea. The coastline here is smooth sheets of ice instead of sand, and twice he almost loses his balance. By the time they settle down near the tides his arms are aching and his legs are shaking, though he isn’t sure if it has anything to do with the physical exertion.

The sea is gentle and still, a soft murmur in the background as he sits down on the ice. Already he can feel the cold seeping through his clothes, but he ignores it. He focuses his attentions on arranging her in his lap, curling his body around hers for warmth. During the long walk he hadn’t been able to monitor her very closely, but now that he looks at her he can see the way her head lolls against his shoulder and how her eyes drift in and out of focus. He pats her cheek.

“Katara? Hey. We made it.”

She takes the ghost of a deep breath, inhaling the frigid ocean air. “So we have.” Her eyes blink up at the sky, then go wide. He is about to ask her what’s wrong when she smiles. “They’re here!”

He looks around. They are alone. His heart breaks as he thinks she must be delusional, but it won’t do any good to argue with her. “Who?”

“Look, Zuko. Look up.”

He doesn’t understand. A gloved hand reaches weakly out of the furs and angles his chin up and to the east. His heart breaks all the more upon realizing what she means. Orihime and Hikoboshi shine brightly in the southern sky. His throat closes up, remembering dancing and folklore and clumsy kisses.

Katara’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “What did you wish for that night?”

In his youth he might have tried to evade her, but there was no longer any time for the luxury of secrets. “To see you again. To spend time with you after we left Ember Island.”

“You got your wish, then.”

“Yes, I suppose I did.” Looking back, he wishes that he would have dreamt a little bigger. “What did you wish for?”

“For you and I to be happy and find love.”

He isn’t surprised. “You were always more gracious than I was.”

She gives a little laugh, but the shallow intake of her breath chases away his amusement. After it evens out she gazes blankly at the stars, her expression remote. “Did my wish come true for you, Zuko?”

Had he been happy? Had he found love? Yes. Not in the way he might have expected, but it seems that the spirits had granted her wish as well. “Yes. Did it come true for you?”

She finds his eyes. “Yes.”

On impulse he kisses her forehead. “I’m glad.” He squeezes her gently and gives her a wry smile. “You could have been a little more specific, though. Happiness and love _together_ might have been nice.”

Her gloved fingers find the scarred side of his face, and he leans into her light touch, wishing he could feel her warmth. “We’re together now.”

He shuts his eyes and wills himself not to cry. “Yes. I suppose we are.”

Katara withdraws her hand back into the heap of furs and they lapse into silence, listening to the sea. After a while, she says, “I’m scared.”

He’s scared too, but he does his best not to show it. “Don’t be. Think of all the people you’ll get to see. Aang, Sokka, Toph, Uncle, your dad… and your mom. You’ll get to see your mom.”

The barest hint of a smile graces her lips, crinkling the wrinkles at her eyes and mouth. Then it falls. “Mom… that’s right.” Under the blankets she shuffles, and after a moment her fist emerges, a faded blue ribbon trailing from between her fingers. She holds it out to him. “Here.”

The ribbon might have seen better days, but the pendant that gleams from it is as smooth and perfect as it was when he carried it around his wrist all those decades ago. The significance of this offering is not lost on him, but he clings to the last bit of denial that he has by making a joke. “Though I appreciate the gesture, I hardly think this is the time or place for a proposal.”

That she has enough energy to huff and roll her eyes gives him the tiniest glimmer of hope, though he knows it is futile. “Shut up and take it, Zuko.”

He reaches for it but stops short. Accepting it feels like accepting the truth, and he isn’t ready. “I can’t. I can’t keep that.”

She looks at him thoughtfully. “Then don’t think of it as yours. Think of it as holding on to it for safe keeping. You’ve taken good care of it before. You can return it properly to me later.”

He thinks of their ritual on Ember Island after his Uncle passed away. He doesn’t want to say it, but the words come out anyway. “Shouldn’t… shouldn’t it go with you?”

She drops her gaze. “Only if you want it to. I’ll let you decide.”

With shaking fingers he takes it from her, searches her gaze. “How am I supposed to let you go?”

She has no answer, and neither does he. He suspects that there isn’t one.

The moment is broken when, despite the layers of fur, she shivers violently and her teeth start to chatter. Panic threatens at the corners of his mind, and he shifts, preparing to stand. “Okay, that’s it. I’m taking you back inside. This was a bad idea.”

With shocking speed a hand clamps around his wrist. “No. Please. Just… let me watch the sea. Just a little longer.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. He knows what she means. Even if he had the strength and the speed, Katara wouldn’t be returning home. But then, the sea was her home in so many ways, and this feels appropriate somehow. He would honor her choice. He could give her that much, at least.

He props her up, cages her in with his legs and wraps his arms around her. His chin finds her shoulder and together they watch the sea. As the sky begins to lighten her breath starts to shudder. His grip on her tightens, as though somehow he could keep her here by the strength of his arms. She grips his hand and sighs.

“I love the sea.”

He kisses her temple. “I love _you._ ”

“I love you too.”

There’s nothing more to say after that.

The first fingers of dawn stretch across the horizon to steal her last breath, and she is gone with a sigh of the waves.

* * *

 

The sun breaks over the trees, signaling the beginning of the New Year.

Though he’s supposed to be looking forward to fresh new days, he can’t help but look back. This time is reserved for her, and he kneels down reverently at the foot of her stone.

He remembers the colors of her life, and the color she brought to his. She was a vibrant, dynamic presence, unforgettable no matter how many years passed or how their lives converged or separated. Though he had loved others just as fiercely, she had colonized a part of his heart long ago in his youth and had refused to budge no matter how he had tried to evict her. He was glad for her tenacity, her forgiveness, and her strength. But most of all he was grateful for her love.

He remembers her final moments, surrounded by the deep cobalt of the ocean and the crisp glimmering white of the tundra. It was fitting, really. She should have never been swathed in green, or draped in crimson, or bathed in yellow. She could be beautiful in all of them but they were costumes, charades. She was as fluid and constant as the water, as fierce and powerful as a storm, as gentle as a spring rain. She was who she was, no more, no less, perfect in a paradox of simple complexity.

He has no flowers to offer today, no petals to cloak her in colors that don’t fit. Instead, he unwraps the necklace from around his wrist and lays it across her stone, the swirling engravings identical. He sighs and gives a sad smile.

“You always belonged in blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really sorry it took so long to finish this. Many things got in the way (work, life, writer’s block, watching Inuyasha for the first time and falling in love with Sesshomaru’s hair, etc.), but I never forgot about this story. I itched to finish it, but I think I was avoiding it. I mean, I knew where this story was going, and the truth is writing this final arc was hard. The whole story premise is sad, but I think I outdid myself in the angst category this time. I think the thing that finally pushed me to come back to it was the new Zutara Week prompts. This chapter was originally based off of the prompt ‘cobalt blue’ from last year, but when I saw ‘vigil’ I knew that it was meant to be. So for better or worse, this story now technically spans two ZK Weeks. 
> 
> This story had 10,000 details and about 9,950 of them were unplanned. When it began I had solid ideas for the framing device – I knew that I wanted to use the colors of the four nations and the four seasons and would relate each arc to a celebration/festival - but everything else outside of a rough sketch was sort of up for grabs and it got complicated pretty quickly. This story was named for the framing device, but perhaps a more apt (and less clumsy) title would have been “Little Things.” There are a lot of ‘little things’ in this story that aren’t so little at all: objects, moments, phrases. I’m a sucker in particular for the power simple objects can have, and this idea pops up frequently in this story and a few of my others. Anyway, hopefully it was complicated in a good way, and hopefully I didn’t drop anything important in all of the juggling. 
> 
> Also, as always this story was conceived to be short, but as it turns out it is my longest story to date. The power of Zutara gets me every time. 
> 
> As always, your comments, critique, and support are cherished. Thank you for going on this journey with me!


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